A World That Forgot Spencer Reid
by KESwriter
Summary: One word echos through Unit Chief Derek Morgan's mind when Aaron Hotchner, his predecessor who died more than five years ago, appears in his dreams. When his team is called in to consult on a case in Las Vegas, a tutor at a local university appears to be connected to the victims. He may also harbor some knowledge that could change the course of history. Ch18 revised, 23-24 removed
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Criminal Minds.

To regular Readers: I have edited and re-posted Chapters 18-22. The main content difference is in 18 and do no expect 23 and 24 to return until December. See my author's note Ch. 22 for a more personal explanation. The other big difference is the fact that I edited this story all week in that my changes stays permanent. My browser doesn't like this site at times so I spent my break working out the kinks in the process. The grammar is better and it is easier to read.

Writing here seems to ease some of the stress in my life. For enquiring minds, I have not completely given up on my magic based story and may revisit it if this story takes off.

I started writing this story in June to keep my mind occupied as I prepared to enter graduate school, which was freaking me out at the time. I never dreamed that this story would grow so large that I would be working on it after school started.

To those of you who are new to this story: Welcome! I have been trying cleaning things up a bit. If you discovered show recently then you are in for a ride through seven seasons! If you are craving something new relating to the show that will take longer to read than the actual length of the show, this is one of the stories worthy of a glance! (I hope.)

Things to know about the story: I'll do my best to research Las Vegas. The timeline may be a little off as I'm still working out the kinks. I'll be researching comas as I continue to write. The college featured in the story is absolutely fictional.

Rated T for Violence

A World that Forgot Spencer Reid

Prologue

Reid had never seen it rain so hard Las Vegas. On any other night he would have found this meteorological phenomenon fascinating, but tonight he was tired. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the greasy felt material that covered the interior of the taxi cab, absorbing the sound of the endless drumming of the raindrops.

It had been an exhausting three days. The reports from his mother's doctors had been growing increasingly frantic for the past two weeks. After the last report of an incident where his mother had violently attacked a nurse, Reid told Hotch he needed to take a few personal days to manage his mother's treatment.

Reid rubbed his eyes, it all felt fruitless. His mother had lost the ability to maintain any form of grip on reality. She didn't seem to recognize him anymore. He had to agree with doctor's recommendation to increase her sedative medications. The last thing she said to him as he walked away was scream "traitor!" as the nurses tried to give her a set of injections. He almost whimpered aloud at the thought of this memory.

He suddenly opened his eyes and became aware of his surroundings. He should have been at the airport by now. He looked through the rain-splattered window and noticed how dim the lights were. This was the wrong section of town.

He tapped the cab window. "Sir, we're in the wrong area. The airport is north of here!"

The driver, an aging white-haired man in his mid-sixties, stopped the cab in the middle of the street. The man had a grim look on his face as he turned around and opened the window. "I'm sorry but this is your stop Mr. Reid."

Panic began to set in. "What? What do you mean-"

The man put a gun through the window. "Leave now please," he said, his voice shaking.

It didn't take long to put things together. "Look whatever they're paying you to leave me here, I can give you twice as much-"

"LEAVE!" he screamed.

He quickly unfastened his seatbelt and pushed out of the cab. He stumbled to the ground as the cab sped off with the passenger door flapping and his luggage locked in the trunk. Reid almost felt the sorry for the man. He wasn't a killer, just someone forced into a very desperate situation. But not nearly as desperate as the one he was in right now.

He was already drenched to the bone when he got to his feet. He was a lone un-armed man in a neighborhood with one of the highest violent crime incident reports in the city. He cursed himself for not paying attention to where the cab was going. He completely terrified now.

Reid stared around for streets signs. The rain was pouring down so hard he could barely see the street lights. He pulled out his phone as began to walk across the poorly-patched street. His fingers were numb as he began dial through the menu for another cab company.

Suddenly the roar of a powerful engine echoed through the vacant street. Reid could barely react as the high beams of the black BMW blinded him. The last thing he remembered was hitting the speed dial for Morgan as the car slammed into him.

Chapter 1

Reid let out a weak shout as he woke up. He noticed his wrists were in padded restraints attached to a hospital bed. There were tubes laced around his arms and there was an oxygen tube in his nose. Something felt very wrong. He glanced at his right wrist bracelet and a feeling of a hysteria set in.

"Mr. Reid, you're awake!" a mousey young nurse shouted as she came into the room. She looked genuinely shocked, which alarmed him even more. "Doctor Ruckman is just down the hall. I'll call him immediately. Welcome back," she added nervously as she dashed out of the room.

Reid then noticed that he wasn't alone in the room. Judging from what he could see of the length, the room appeared to be very wide and divided by curtains as partitions. He heard the faint beeping of the monitors in the beds next to him.

Something else felt wrong as he took in how his body was reacting. He didn't feel the slight twist of discomfort when he moved the leg that had been shot. His breathing also felt more normal than it had been in a long time, as if his lungs hadn't been weakened by the anthrax exposure. He was now trying very not to scream out loud in confusion.

"Well, I have to say this is a first for me Mr. Reid," a handsome man in his early forties with an expensive shirt and tie visible under his white coat. "I have never had a patient recover from such a lengthy coma."

Reid felt a strong desire to hit the man for his lack of proper conduct. But he had more pressing concerns. "How long was I out?" he asked croakily. It felt as if his he hadn't used his voice in a long time.

The bravado in the doctor's voice weakened as he approached him and pulled out a stethoscope. "Mr. Reid you suffered severe head trauma when you were hit by an on-coming car. Do you remember any of that?" he said as he put the bell to his chest beneath his gown.

He shook as hard as he could to the jerk the device away. "How long was I out?" he demanded, proper medical terminology failing him.

A pained full look came across the man's face. "It will be ten years next Thursday."

"What," he gasped. This didn't make sense. "What is year is it?"

"It is May 26, 2012. Your file indicates that you were en route to the McCarran International Airport to catch of flight to Washington D.C," he said dolefully.

"To do what" Reid asked impatiently. He knew there was more. "Tell me!"

"Where you were going to meet with a Jason Gideon from the FBI to start the agent application process," he said. His eyes turned glassy. "I'm so sorry," he whispered and took a step back.

Reid fell back and closed his eyes, trying to force his eyes to not produce tears. Everything felt wrong. Horribly wrong. He was suffering some sort of psychotic break. Either he had imagined everything that happened over the past ten years. Or the fact that he hadn't been conscious for the last ten years was the delusion. He really couldn't tell which was which.


	2. Chapter 2

The joy of waking up to reviews never fades. This chapter may seem short, but I have a ton of stuff to pack into it. I may be missing a few plot points with regards to "what would have happened if Spencer wasn't on the team?" I am sure I will receive suggestions.

I can't help but note the fact that this may be one of the worst things I have ever done to Reid in any of my stories. I did some crazy stuff to him in my first story, but I never went into explicit detail as that is one of the major rules I have set up for myself. So it should be interesting to see how this one plays out.

Chapter 2

Miracle. Lucky. Anomaly. Rare. Special. Blessed. These were the words Reid kept hearing over and over as he was put through multiple series of tests during first week after he "woke up." He went through MRI, CT scans, cognitive ability tests… too many for him to count as he tried to examine his current situation personally. All the results came back with positive results: He had suffered no severe brain damage.

There were things that seemed foggy in his mind but clear to everyone else. The day after he regained consciousness a pair of burly detectives arrived to ask him about the accident. He knew he had to lie. He told them he didn't remember anything about the crash and let them piece together what they knew. It turns out everything fit a very similar storyline. He had come home for the weekend to visit his mother before relocating to D.C. Except the cab driver had picked him up from the hotel and dropped him off in that same bad section of town. They tracked down the driver only to find he had skipped town the day after the accident (it technically wasn't considered "an accident," but that was the preferred term due to lack of evidence). A Hispanic in his early thirties, he didn't look anything like the man Reid remembered, but he chose to remain quiet. It seemed that the man had owed money to a few mob bosses and was found dead in a drug den in L.A. four years later. They asked around the neighborhood and no one claimed to see anything as it was raining so hard.

There were also a few other missing pieces. His luggage was never recovered and they searched the areas around the crime scene, the man's home, and the depot. They also could not track down who called in the accident. All they knew was that it came from a payphone a block away and had clearly been wiped down. The 911 operator said that she thought she heard a woman's voice. With so little to go on and such a high level of criminal activity at the time, comprehensive investigation stopped after two weeks.

Spencer remembered what happened ten years ago differently. When he was twenty-one he took a cab and arrived at the airport without any trouble. The reason he remembered the cab ride at all was because the driver had to yell at him to get out when they arrived as he was lost in thought about finally using his brain to help people. And oddly, he was fairly certain it wasn't raining that night.

The detectives only nodded and grunted as he spoke. He knew his case was going back to the bottom of the drawer after waiting a few days to see if he remembered anything more.

…

His first "official" visitor came the next day. It was his father. The nurses told him that he had visited him a couple times a year and read out loud to him occasionally.

"Hello Spencer," his dad said softly as he entered his new private room.

"Hi Dad," he said in a guarded tone as he adjusted his sheets. He still wasn't steady on his feet yet so he remained in his bed with his robe tightly wrapped around him.

"So how are you feeling?" he said almost cheerfully.

"Tired," he said honestly.

His dad slowly approached him with a slight smile on his face. "Come on Spencer, you've been asleep for nearly ten years!" he said kiddingly. "Aren't you ready to get out and live a little?"

"Not with you," he said bluntly.

He seemed genuinely hurt by the remark. "Spence-"

Reid wouldn't let him finish. "Did you know we were the only family on the street that didn't have a Christmas tree or lights hanging outside? I finally got sick of being badgered with questions from school and the neighbors so I told them my Mom and I was Jewish. It is much cheaper to put electric menorahs in the windows and easier to set up than a tree. I even learned a little Hebrew and claimed my family was non-practicing when they asked about my Bar Mitzvah."

A look of sadness creased his face. "Spencer I'm so sorry."

But he was only getting warmed up. "I learned to forge Mom's signature at the age of ten. I even signed social security checks for her to keep us off the streets. A federal offence I know, but the statute of limitations has run out and I was a minor at the time."

His Dad looked shocked. "Spencer I had no idea-"

"You had no idea because you never bothered to check up me or Mom," he practically yelled as the anger surged through him. "For my last graduation, I had achieved such high honors that I was expected to sit in front but I claimed a family emergency had come up at the last minute because Uncle Daniel had died earlier and I had no one to introduce to the Dean and department heads."

A flash of anger appeared on his face. "Spencer, why are you telling me all of this? I came to offer you a place to call home. A chance for us to start over and build something-"

Reid shoved the photos lined up on the table at him. "You think being by my side, when I was unconscious makes up for over for all the time when I really needed you to make sure there was food in the fridge? I'm sorry but that doesn't change anything."

Reid noticed there were tears leaking from the corners of his Dad's eyes. He softened the tone of his voice ever so slightly. "Dad I know there is more to why you abandoned us and deep down I can almost accept that. But not right now. The pain is too raw. I'm not ready."

A look of surprise and confusion came across his face. "What do you know about-"

"Dad please leave now," he almost shouted.

He seemed taken aback. "But Spencer, we've only-"

"Just leave!"

His father's shoulders slouched down as he quickly backed out of the room. His head was bent down as he was clearly trying to hide the tears pouring down his cheeks.

Reid moaned as he fell back into his bed. He had called the sanitarium earlier and found out that his mother seemed to believe he was dead. She appeared to be in good spirits most of the time and was convinced she was teaching at a special college for mentally unbalanced students of all ages. Reid hoped that deep down she knew that he wasn't dead. He wasn't sure when he'd be ready to shatter her relatively stable world.

…

All of the female nurses seemed to be completely enamored with him. He was the youngest adult in the coma ward. Many of the nurses had just grown to care about him based purely on his looks. They were constantly riffling his hair and had suggestions as to how to have it trimmed while maintaining his "boyish handsome cuteness." They tried to make him as comfortable as possible and offered to get him anything he wanted.

He felt extremely guilty when he asked for more "special features" added to the computer he was given to help him get up to speed with what was happening in the world. He needed access to a Facebook account to do some extra digging into what was going on. One of the nurses was more than happy to oblige and waved him off when he tried to explain that he wouldn't do anything to her page.

Never in his life had he been so dependent on a computer to help him find out what he needed to know. He usually depended on Garcia- he had to push that thought away before he became choked up. The results of three hours of intense searching were devastating.

The only major good point he could find was that Elle was still in the BAU. This was most likely the result of the fact that he hadn't written letters revealing the intimate details of his team's lives to his mother where an unstable Un-Sub was also living. He was able to scroll through her friends Facebook pages and discovered that she was married- to Morgan! They had been married for almost four years now. There was a picture of them together in Jamaica, and one of her friends posted: "The spark had been ignited by that very special vacation." For a few minutes he reflected on that life of happiness that had been forged as a result of his absence.

But that could not possibly make up for everything else that had "gone wrong." There were small things such J.J. was still acting as media liaison, but there was much more. Tobias Hankell managed to kill three officers before a spray of bullets tore his body apart. While Lila Archer was saved through the intervention of an agent he had recognized as originally being part of Coop's team, but she had suffered a series of nervous breakdowns and was currently doing a third stint in drug rehab. There was also the fact that he could find no trace of where Emily was as she had not replaced Elle on the team.

Reid tried very hard not to count how many people had died because he "wasn't there." The doctor with a son had died and the shooter himself had been killed upon the arrival of the police. The bully who murdered his tormentors was killed in a shoot-out with the sheriffs and his team. Sammy wasn't able to communicate who had abducted his parents and was left orphaned as a result. The zodiac copycat replicated another string of murders before he was caught.

But one death haunted him the most. One death that resulted in the promotion of his closest friend in the BAU. One death that allowed for another to live. One death that was followed by six others before the Un-Sub was finally shot down. Special Supervisory Agent Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner was shot in the head by long distance serial killer Phillip Dowd in a hospital in Des Plaines Iowa.

This was too much for Reid. He finally broke down. He maintained enough composure clear his web history for the nurses to think was crying over Elle. He then turned off computer and pushed it to the side. He let out loud violent sobs as he tried to curl up in his bed. He cried in a way only his friends who knew him for a long time should hear if at all. He cried until he found himself coughing hard. But the tears wouldn't stop and his body continued to shake as he was injected with a mild sedative.

The last thing he thought before he was forced to drift off was lament. _Why am I alive? I have no one of major significance in my life to care for. Why must Jack live in either a world where his mother or his father was dead? If I couldn't save all those people, why am I alive at all? WHY AM I ALIVE! _


	3. Chapter 3

Lengthy Author Note to explain why I haven't been updating like a mad woman when I am excited about a story.

With regards to updating, I finally found a solution to my computer over-heating problems by getting a cooling pad. Unfortunately I cannot find a proper solution for how to keep myself from being affected by the heat so my pool looks more appealing than my computer screen these days.

Are there any Doctor Who fans around here? The CM finale inspired me to dig into this British Sci-fi show and I love it! Having watched a ton of episodes recently, it has helped me develop the story in my head and come up with new ways to show where realities can bleed across.

Research-related note: I am doing my best to figure out how a social worker might be involved in a case like this. If anyone knows much about the rehabilitation of coma patients, PM me and I'll do my best to make it accurate.

This entry is shorter than planned as I want to get something up quick to prove I haven't abandoned this story. It doesn't move the plot forward significantly, but it answers a few questions left hanging in the last chapter. Also, I ended up choosing the Brit Mick Rawson from Suspect Behavior to round out the team. And I am sure someone will give me the proper name of a certain object extremely significant to one particular character.

Chapter 3:

She could find him almost well as her sister. J.J. walked across Holy Cross Cemetery as if it were her own labyrinth of sadness and reflection. There were multiple ways to leave this place physically but none spiritually. She weaved around the head stones and a placed a single white lily in front of Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner's tomb stone and took a seat on the bench in front of it.

It had been close. Far too close. For nearly ten hours J.J. feared that her beloved Henry would share the same fate as Jack. That he would be living the rest of his life without his father. That she would lose her New Orleans gentleman who was the love of her life. The team came through in the end. They even gave her one of the most memorable nights of her life for all the right reasons a few days later. Yet she felt she should have been doing more than just managing the press during those tense hours. She felt-

"This isn't how I'd be spending my honeymoon," a smooth a voice said.

J.J. turned around to Morgan approaching her in his usual casual clothes of a loose blazer over a dark T-shirt and jeans. J.J. could help but smile.

"Not all of us have the energy to party our way through ten days and nights in Aruba Morgan," she said.

"True, but I still wouldn't be hanging around here when there is so much to celebrate," Morgan said as he sat down next to her.

"But so much could have gone wrong," J.J. said, staring Hotch's tomb stone and then at Morgan. "We got extremely lucky."

Morgan stared at it also. "I don't believe in luck J.J. I believe in our team. We worked hard, kept our heads, and Will countless others survived because of it," he said firmly. He had grown into the role of team leader remarkably well after Gideon abruptly left not long after Hotch was-

"Yet why couldn't we save Hotch?" J.J. said as she suddenly felt tears building up. "I have always felt there must have been some way we could have saved him. That feeling has been growing even more for some reason in the last a few weeks," she said, almost pleadingly. Then another thought formed and she turned to look at him. "That's why you're here, isn't it? You know something feels strange. And you don't know what to do about it."

Morgan shook his head and a faint smile appeared. "You have picked up some profiling skills J.J. I do feel something's off. Every once and a while I still feel like Hotch is hovering over my shoulder, ready to critique my profiles and how I divide the work on cases. It's been six years, and I wake up from sleeping on the plane expecting to find him looking over paper-work under his little spotlight. It somehow doesn't seem right."

"I didn't think you believe in ghosts Derek," a voice said behind them. Rossi approached them in his usual expensive suit coat and jeans combination. He then stopped and stared at them. "What are the odds that three BAU members, who practically live together, would end up at the same place during one of the few times we are given to spend in the company of others?"

"Others who don't know what we're feeling Rossi," J.J. countered. "So why are you here?"

"Well, I had a feeling our fearless leader might end up here to reflect on how close he thought he was to being responsible for the demise of his team." Rossi continued to walk over to them and leaned against the bench. "Even though he has proven time and time again he is as strong and capable unit chief as Aaron Hotchner."

Morgan turned around to face Rossi. "So you're here to give me a pep talk?" he asked irritably. "To tell me to stop feeling as if I should've been the one entering the building alongside Mick? Our team would have been blown to bits if Kevin hadn't figured out the building plans ten seconds before that bomb went off. I don't like watching my whole team come so close to being killed in a single blast."

Rossi stared at him for a long moment. "You have never been this frustrated have you?" he said thoughtfully. "We all came out safe and alive but why isn't that enough for you?"

J.J. watched Rossi closely. "It doesn't feel like enough to you also," J.J. said firmly. "I don't think any of us can exactly describe how or why, but another person should have been alive at the end of the day with us," J.J. said quietly and all eyes turned to Hotch's grave.

They sat and stood there in silence, remembering the man whose air of authority still fills the conference room with a sense of formality. Remembering a man who shocked his team whenever he cracked a smile and outright scared them when he burst out laughing. But on the edges of these memories there was some sort of gray fog. As if there was something else they should be remembering in addition to their strong leader.

Rossi was the first to break the silence when he approached the grave. He lightly fingered the fresh purple flowers next to J.J.'s lily. "I didn't know you grew these also," he said to J.J.

J.J. approached the flowers also. She hadn't noticed them earlier. "I don't. Maybe Haley-"

"Haley always brings roses," Morgan said glumly. "I found a list he kept of the places where he could order the best roses from in the bottom of his desk. The guy kept lists for everything," he said.

"It's always the same woman," a brittle voice said.

The three team member looked up to see a woman who looked to be in her late seventies. She was dressed as if she had come from attending mass in a pale blue dress and white bonnet. She had a mysterious smile on her face.

"I was visiting my dear Arthur a few days after this grave was freshly dug and watched her place the flowers in front of the tomb stone. When I walked over to offer my condolences she turned her head so that I could only see her long dark hair as she walked away," she rambled on. "I still see her every once and while, but I have noticed something interesting. When she first came she placed four flowers on your friend's grave. But at some point, I'm guessing sometime after the anniversary of the death of your friend she adds another flower. If I'm not mistaken, the total is up to ten now," she with a note of satisfaction.

The three of them just stared at the woman. She seemed so sharp yet so distant at the same time.

"You are a very perceptive woman ma'am," Rossi said respectfully.

She nodded happily. "People are interesting don't you think? I visit Arthur frequently just to pass the time and find the most fascinating people. Some come to explore, others just come to try honoring the dead and maybe find a little peace in themselves. But this woman is definitely different in ways I can't quite explain."

No one knew what to say. The woman nodded politely and said: "I think I'll leave you to your thoughts." She left before any of them thought to ask her name.

Morgan walked over and looked at the flowers. "So why leave four flowers in the beginning? What is the significance of that number?"

J.J. suddenly took a step back. "Why do I feel like I know a person who could explain every meaning of the number in an instant," she said feeling a little dizzy.

"Well we have Garcia," Morgan said. "She can track down information-"

"No, not like that" Rossi said to J.J.'s surprise. "It's like I'm expecting the buzzing sound of someone talking a mile a minute into my ear about something I'm not terribly interested in," he said, clearly not enjoying the sensation.

Morgan simply looked at Hotch's grave. He had known for a long time that something else was missing. In his head he kept he asking Hotch if he knew what it was. He always answered him in his dreams with one word.


	4. Chapter 4

Lengthy Author's Note Feature Mostly Technical Information (I am also very "chatty" tonight): This story is never out of my mind for long, but updating is tricky given the heat and a number of things I'm busy with these days.

Time travel explanation: I have decided to address some time plot devices used time travel based on the comment of some readers. This reality where Reid has been in a coma for ten years shouldn't exist. Some people are aware of this more than others. Some might even know what the proper reality is. A few of you might be asking: "So why don't these people tell the team what is going on?" I don't think the question is terribly hard to answer if you imagine yourself in a similar situation. I refuse to give a more direct answer.

I'd also like to emphasize the fact that this is still a crime story and not to be scared off by the "supernatural" elements. There is one nasty villain behind everything that comes from the show.

I'm afraid this chapter might be a let-down, but it is necessary. I do want to balance story out with some realism. I worry that this "realism" might not be as real as I'd like. Please don't panic.

Medically speaking, Reid suffered "brain damage" that has affected his ability to function in society. I decided to create a service coordinator instead because I familiar with the profession in real life and I'll explain more in an end note. The OC will be used minimally later on in the story and I am taking enormous advantage of one of the more vague parts of the show. I also love throwing in "Reid-speak" occasionally.

Chapter 4

Christopher Brice was a loser and he was very aware of it. At first life seemed good, he had married his college sweet-heart and five days before his thirtieth birthday his son was born. His daughter came three days after Christmas two years later. And then his wife decided to declare independence seven days early by serving him divorce papers. Now at the age of forty-five he had been divorced for seven years sharing joint-custody of pair of teenagers who hated his guts because their step-father was rich and seemed to "get" what they were going through. Slightly over-weight with increasingly-gray hair with an endless case load that had permanently stooped his shoulders, Christopher Brice had no idea how he could possibly make the idea of re-entering the "real world" remotely appealing to Spencer Reid.

He found the young man sitting in a wheelchair near a table on the terrace nursing a cup of coffee. It had been nearly three weeks since he had woken up and the doctors had been able to make an official diagnosis.

He slowly approached him and said: "Hello Mr. Reid, my name is Christopher Brice; I am a rehabilitation coordinator from People Inc. United contacted by your attorney. May I sit down?" he asked pointing to the chair.

Reid was slow to answer him, and he was sure it had nothing to day with brain trauma. He looked him up and down, soaking in the image of him in his crumpled cheap suit holding his battered brief case. Brice knew the man had been training to become a profiler for the FBI and he wondered he was thinking.

"Certainly," he said in a very quiet voice.

Brice had never actually had a coma patient wake up on him before but he had read how patients were slow articulate full sentences. He took a seat and began to riffle through his briefcase as he spoke.

"I know the term 'service coordinator' might be a little disconcerting for a man of your remarkable intellect, but given the fact that you had given powers of attorney to your lawyer-" He couldn't help but look up and ask "By the way what made you even think to have the document created? At that your age I was still having trouble setting up car insurance."

Reid shrugged his shoulders. "I needed to set up things to make sure my mother was taken care of," he said simply. Brice understood instantly. He knew enough from the man's attorney and government records that the father had left when he was young and he had to have his mother admitted to a sanitarium. Brice couldn't imagine having to take on that kind of responsibility at such a young age.

Brice rambled on and pulled out information packets. "So I am here to help you re-establish a place in society. I'll be helping you with relearning basic life skills such as money management, grocery shopping, using forms of transportation and possibly obtaining a driver's license in the future. I'll also assist you in finding a place of permanent residence and finally, job placement."

He finished with a huff and finally looked up at the man who had at least twice as much college education. The expression on his face was somber. He was almost expecting him to shout in indignation at being treating like an invalid or burst into tears over being reduced to depending on another person for assistance in something as simple as living. Reid just nodded in his direction and took another sip off coffee.

He felt as if he had no choice but finish his summary. "I'll be working in coordination with your therapist to monitor you mental health as well as your attorney to help manage your finances, which are in decent condition. So basically I round out you set of three holy ghosts eh?" he added with a weak laugh.

Reid stared out across the terrace. He spoke in a monotone. "The number of three is one of the most commonly used means of dividing the basic elements. In ancient times dating back to Babylonia it referred to earth, wind, and fire and then the elements of sea and sky were added. In Greek times the number four was the preferred means of classifying the basic elements as 'air, fire, earth, and water.' There is actually only one 'holy ghost' in Christianity. The term within in the faith commonly refers to the Holy Spirit, or 'air' in reference to the basic element. It is generally considered present everywhere and guides people in living according to the teachings of Christ. So given that definition, you are the ghost in the trinity of people who will be over-seeing my rehabilitation," he said with a slight smile on his face by the end.

Brice just sat there. He wondered how he was supposed to react to such a "monologue," for lack of a better word. The doctors were clearly spot-on in their assessment that his level of intelligence had in no way been affected by the head injury. He really looked at the man, noticing how little he had changed in appearance since his accident. The face was still unusually youthful and looked like he was about half Brice's weight. The most obvious sign of how much he had aged was in his eyes. It wasn't easy to describe, but there something very ancient, and very sad about them.

After what felt like ages, but was probably only a few minutes, Brice couldn't stand the silence and stuttered on. "Well that is very interesting Mr. Reid. Your doctors have indicated that you are ready to start reviewing some basic life skills so I'd like to set up another appointment next week on Monday."

He then arranged the folders or reading materials and shifted them to Reid's side of the table. "But right now I'd like to learn a little more about you," he said and adjusted his chair so that he was little closer to him. "What would you like to do once you are able to leave this place Mr. Reid?"

Reid threw him a side-ways glance at him with that looked mildly irritated. "I believe I gave permission to both my lawyer and psychologist to discuss this sort of thing with you."

"But I'd like to hear it in your own words."

He rolled his eyes. "I want to leave this place and find some way of using what I learned while acquiring my three P. in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics and how I was able to use them to become eligible for a possible position in the FBI. Which I know is going to be extremely difficult given the fact that I have not been able to use them in any capacity over the course of nearly ten years."

Brice tried to sound optimistic. "I doubt it is completely impossible. You may have to take a few additional courses to learn a little more about how your fields of expertise changed over the past ten years-"

"Less than you think," he muttered.

"What makes you say that?" Brice asked quizzically.

"Nothing," he quickly responded. "What are the chances I won't have to stay in a group home after being released from the hospital?"

"Well, we'll monitor your progress in terms of mobility, motor function mastery and psychoanalysis. Then at some point you'll go a through a series of interviews and then a decision will be made at a conference consisting of your medical doctors, psychologist, and yours truly."

Reid turned his head so he was looking directly at him. "I can assure that with the exception of my physical condition associated with a long period of reversible muscle atrophy, I am more than mentally stable and capable of returning to functioning in society."

Brice couldn't help but think there something odd about him. Not because he was a true genius by every definition of the word. It was more like the man was harboring secrets on some level beyond his comprehension.

Brice could tell Reid's patience was growing thin so he decided to pack up. "These are the folders of information I'd like you to look at before our next meeting if you're up to it," he said pushing the papers a few more inches towards him and got up. "Maybe next time we can walk around or do some activity that might make conversation a little less tense," he said.

Reid didn't look particularly enthused by the idea. He was clearly still hurting in ways that the psychologists had yet to uncover. Brice walked over and stood in front of him. "I am truly sorry about what happened to you."

Reid backed his wheel chair away sharply. "I am really tired of people telling me there sorry about happened!" he shouted. "None of you are responsible for what happened. I don't want your pity or your sympathy. I just want you to do your jobs and help me get out of here and try to start of life to attain some form of peace that might possibly develop into happiness."

What he said sounded bitter and pessimistic. It was bordering on suicidal. But Brice had some grief counseling training and knew better. He let the comment slide and simply offered his hand. "I'll do my best Mr. Reid. I'll see you on Monday."

Reid shook his hand very lightly but didn't return the salutation. As Brice walked away, he noticed that Reid was staring out into space again. The man had such enormous intelligence, but pain was forcing him to confine most of it within his mind.

…

Brice's office was in the basement of an old decrepit build on the border of one of the poorer sections of the city. The air-conditioner was on the fritz again and he was sweating buckets when he finally collapsed into the chair in his cramped cubicle. It didn't really need partitions as his case files and ancient computer equipment lined every wall to the point where he sometimes forgot that the walls were gray.

He wiped his brow and spread some files over his cluttered desk. His tense meeting with Spencer Reid in the morning was actually the high point of his day. There were so many people who needed living management assistance. The economy was down, so they were receiving more applications from family members who couldn't afford to care for their loved ones. It is also a non-profit agency so donations were going down with economy as well.

The main reason Reid had qualified for assistance was because for all his brilliant pre-planning, he hadn't planned for rehabilitation assistance. Most of his meager savings (from where, he had no idea) had gone into medical care and his mother's sky-rocketing sanitarium fees. But who could have possibly predicted that the economy would have deteriorated this badly? He was having trouble finding jobs for the most high-functioning people under his management. He shuddered at the thought of getting to point of trying help this man with such a high I.Q. find a job that wasn't remotely demeaning.

"Special delivery," a cheerful voice announced as a hand holding foam cup appeared in front of him.

Brice took the cup and swiveled around slightly to look the agency's newest fresh-faced hire. The woman was extremely attractive with her short hair and long muscular legs. She wore tight skirts that were bordering on the short side and blouses with a couple buttons loose while somehow maintaining an image of pure, professional modesty. Her work load was actually higher than his as she was hired to fill two vacant positions, but hardly any wrinkle lines had formed since she started two months ago. Practically every person on the floor had tried to hit on her once, including the spinster receptionist.

"Thanks," he said and took a sip.

She smiled sweetly. "It's fresh from a ten minute old pot," she said jokingly.

Brice raised his cup. "There is no taste better than ten minute old coffee," he replied.

She suddenly squeezed her way into his office and scanned his case files with mild interest. "So you're the one who got the nurse's pretty boy," she said and lightly fingered the file with Spencer Reid's picture attached.

A few alarm bells went off and he turned to tuck the file away. His coworker stepped back and raised her hands slightly.

"I had dropped by the head trauma recovery center a few days ago to check on one of the people I was assigned to," she said calmly and then a look of sadness appeared. "The nurses there see some awful hopeless things. When I was looking over my notes, I couldn't help but over-hear a few of them gushing over how sweet he looked when he slept. Nick works at the other hospital so I figured by process of elimination that it was you."

He understood her curiosity now. Brice handled a mixture of cases that were mostly high-functioning with mild motor function impairment and only the occasional patient with head trauma. She worked with people who were mostly lower-functioning and with less "normal" appearances. Seeing someone with a stronger chance of functioning well in society was a breath of fresh air.

"It's okay," he said gently and held the closed folder in his hands. "I doubt he remembers the physical pain of the caused by the accident. So in his mind the loss of his future is more than filling that void. If that makes sense," he said with a shrug.

"Oh absolutely," she said with a wave of her hands. "I have seen how the pain of a lost future with a loved one can stay with a person in ways that they aren't fully aware of, even many years later."

Brice realized that his mysterious coworker may have just revealed something very personal. He wondered-

"So how are you going to help him?" she asked and propped her elbows on a stable pile of folders. She sounded cheerful again.

The question took him by surprise. "Well first I'm going to discuss the basics of living in today's-"

"No not that way," she said dismissively. "How are you going to get him to feel happy again?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I read somewhere he was a competitive chess player. Maybe I can play a few games with him."

"Are you any good at chess?" she asked.

"Well, no," he said sheepishly.

"Then you'll bore him to pieces. He might even take it the wrong way as you're trying to boost his self-esteem simply based on what you read about him." She sounded like a teacher.

"So what do you suggest?" he asked irritably.

She leaned over again into his cubical picks up the picture that motivates him to work these long hours. It reminds him of why he is working to help the greater good of these people who are often marginalized by society.

"Your sister is such a pretty woman," she said reverently.

It was picture take nineteen years ago of him with his sister in a wheel chair and a breathing tube. No one knew exactly what disorder she suffered from, but at the time it was generally believed to be autism-related.

"What about showing him your piano skills?" she asked.

It was a picture of him balancing a portable piano across her lap. He was leaning beside her to show how to finger the keys for "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

"The guy has never been diagnosed as autistic," he said a little harshly. It wasn't a memory he enjoyed sharing with other people. He even wondered how she knew about it to begin with.

"Christopher," she said abruptly and looked him in the eye. "This man is missing a personal touch. You're responsible for returning him to the real world more than anyone else. He is experiencing a level of emotional pain that he can't properly express. Show him how to open up a little by revealing how he is not nearly alone as he thinks."

He sat and thought for a moment. Lucile died of unknown causes twelve days after the picture was taken. Brice knew that Spencer Reid was like no other person he had worked with before. He had never allowed himself to think about opening this door.

"I'll definitely consider it," he said slowly.

She replaced the photo and patted him on the shoulder. "Good boy," she said affectionately and began to walk away to her cubicle.

He leaned back in his chair. "Hey Beth," he shouted, "How did you become so incredibly wise?"

She stopped and turned on her heel. "You'd be amazed at where I pick some of it up from," Bethany Clemmons said with her signature intriguing smile and then strutted off.

End Note:

So did I make anyone want to cry? It wasn't my intention and the back story of my OC went on much longer than planned. I may cut it at some point. I admit haven't been reading much FF lately, but I have never found a CM-story that has dealt directly with issues associated with mentally-challenged people (I'm not sure if that is the current PC term). I like to address the occasional social issue when I think it fits as it helps my writing development.

I changed Brice's position to service coordinator because I know a lot more about the job. I was able to find more information that supported the accuracy of why one might be called in. The organization mentioned is real but I tweaked the name in case I made some huge mistakes. I wasn't exaggerating that much about the stress levels as I've met a coordinator and she has to work two jobs to support herself and her daughter. So this is my PSA about the groups that help people who sometimes aren't easy to look at.

I am 99% certain this will be my only preachy chapter. The next chapter will be less sappy and feature "rising action" plot development. Do not expect it to come on Tuesday as I have some serious sleep to catch up on after posting this one.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note:

If I begin to write about the insanity that prevented me from focus this week, I won't be able to finish the story. Let's just say I discovered that waiting for people to respond to something you organized in real life can be worse than waiting for story reviews online.

I usually hate it when fan writers do this, but I can't help myself. I just hope I wrote it vaguely enough. You probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but to answer a reviewer's question, yes EVERY major character connected to the show will be mentioned. (Of course Comic-Con is on right now so I have no idea what will come out) I think you know what I'm getting at, but there no reason to worry. The character is as of right now a CM-inspired OC.

I don't expect readers to get every allusion to characters or plot lines from the past. I admit, up until a few weeks ago I had a ton a free time on my hands. I didn't watch the show from the beginning so I did a few viewing marathons to get up to speed. So many of the stories are still fresh in my head. I also have fun reading the wiki entries on the show which happens to be very well-documented.

I am completely obsessed with random stuff tonight. I like to think I am getting into the mind of Reid and CM as the stories often feature pieces of information that don't always relate to murder and mutilation.

Chapter 5:

"So this guy is collecting kids to create a symphony?" Elle asked as she watched a girl play the piano from behind a widow with J.J. in the Director's office at the Cleveland Conservatory.

"More, likely an opus," the matronly director corrected her. She looked at the list of students who had been abducted. "Opus thirty-one to be exact," she said.

Elle looked stunned. "How could you guess that?"

The director's gaze turned to the teenage girl with her long brown hair undulating has she played. "I make a point of getting to know every student at my school. The two missing students were working on sonatas sixteen and seventeen. The final part is eighteen, known as 'The Hunt.'"

"So which students are working on 'The Hunt?' and were these kids assigned by someone?" Ell asked aggressively. "We'll need their names."

The woman looked slightly affronted. "I'll need to speak with the parents in order to get their permission-"

"We don't have time for that," Elle responded testily. "A kid is going to go missing in…"

J.J. let Elle continue to put the heat on the woman. She was more interested in watching the girl. Every once and a while part of her face was visible and there were tears in her eyes. The sound wasn't on but the girl's movements expressed volumes.

"Would you like to listen?" the director said suddenly.

J.J. turned to see how the woman's features had softened at the sight. "I would love to," she responded.

The woman walked over and pressed a button. The room was instantly full of intense, emotional music.

"The girl's parents died in a car accident and was on a path of self-destruction when her aunt began to tutor her in the art to express her pain," she said trying to stay calm. "I can't stand the thought of losing any of them. And I don't want to as a result of a parental back-lash."

J.J. turned to the woman. "We'll do our best to protect your school Ma'am," she said gently and then looked back at the girl as her fingers raced across the piano. "What is she playing right now?"

J.J. ignored as Elle's look of mild fury over realizing she had just been forced to play bad-cop and listened to the tormented reverberation of the piano notes. She felt like she was being transformed to a different place as the director described the piano piece derived from the sound track of a French film called Amelie…

…

It was a 2001 film about a shy young waitress in Paris who finds a way of breaking through her feelings of loneliness by helping bring joy to strangers. The piece Reid had been working on was "Comptine d'un autre été : L'après-midi" which roughly translates to "nursery rhyme of another summer: the afternoon."

Reid played with it passion and fire. He fought to remember his life before the coma. He remembered the sweetness of J.J.'s concern for him. Garcia's teasing when he had to work in her office when he was shot in the leg. As he shifted positions he envisioned Morgan pushing his hair around. Emily's piercing eyes when she wanted to know what secrets he was keeping. The vision of Rossi listening with mild interest as he tried to dissect his mastery of the piece. And finally Hotch, staring at him wanting to know-

"It is nice to see you branching out from Beethoven's classics," Brice said as he walked into the break room where Reid was practicing.

Reid smiled weakly. "It doesn't take long to master in terms of technique but putting emotion into is the real the challenge," he said with a final flourish across the board.

He felt fortunate that he did not have to spend time in a group home. He was moved to a special occupational therapy ward where patients with different medical conditions, such as the recovery from undiagnosed diabetes learned to adjust their lifestyle in order to maintain their health. The people were friendly and he had his own room on the floor. But today was when everything would change.

"Are you sure you're ready Reid?" Brice asked. They over the past month they had grown close by sharing small intimate details of their lives that had helped them establish a sense of trust. Brice and Reid had chosen to abandon formal titles as a result.

Reid quickly placed the keyboard in its traveling case. "I am more than ready Brice," he said and then went to grab his small amount of personal belongings.

Brice picked up a box containing paperwork. "I warn you living alone is not all it's cracked up to be."

"Let me be the judge of that," Reid responded as they left the room. He didn't look back at the place that been residence for nearly two months.

…

"Home sweet home," Brice said with a flourish as they entered his new place of residence.

It was single-bedroom apartment with a small living room and kitchen in the corner. The pale-blue paint was pealing, the appliances were outdated, and the hot water tank was on the fritz. But the main selling point was the fact that it was fully-furnished. It didn't match but the couch and the bed was comfortable. The most important features to Reid were the sturdy book case and the large desk that was somehow squeezed into the space.

Brice was watching his reaction closely. "Are you sure you're ready to live on your own like this? It is one thing to see the place as a passageway into the real world; it is a whole other thing to actually live in it."

Reid stepped forward and looked around. It reminded him of his first place in D.C. in that it wasn't much bigger than this. Desperate to prove himself as an asset to the team, he worked tirelessly to educate himself during his off time. He had covered the walls with maps and books to the point where the beige paint was only visible in the kitchen. He relocated to a larger apartment as part of the process overcoming his diluadid addiction. His new place was less cluttered with work-related material as began to let his team and other friends into-

Reid shook his head suddenly. He couldn't go there when he was trying to build something new. "I think I like it," he said trying to sound optimistic.

Brice didn't look convinced but nodded his head anyway. "It's a start," he said and beckoned him to the kitchen. "I stocked the kitchen for you based on your selections from earlier. He began to open cupboards. "You can arrange things however you like, but I thought this might…"

Reid was only half-listening. These were only the small details of life. His real concern was for what would be starting in the next few days.

…

"Spencer how many times do I have to tell you to stop wasting time organizing these cans!" the tall beefy Italian man said angrily.

Reid nodded obediently, in partial kneeling position next to a low set of shelves. "I'm sorry sir. It's just that consumer studies show that-"

"I don't care what your stupid research shows!" the man said as he knocked over a few cans of tomato sauce, just barely missing him. "I need you to be stocking the candy bar displays now! Before the 'starving students' come in and try to make a clean sweep of the place without paying a cent," he said and banged on the top of a shelf containing cereal boxes.

Reid got to his feet shakily and went the storage room. He had started his job at the convenience store on the sixteenth of July and this was his fourth day. It was the best Brice could do and the only upside was that store was on a bus line and within walking distance of a local university. During his the first day, he nearly burst into tears twice while on the job and then broke down once he got into his apartment. Yesterday was the first day where he didn't feel like crying at the end of his shift. He was hoping to continue the momentum but it didn't seem likely now he thought as he came out with a box and began to rearrange the racks.

"You know for a store so close to a university, I was expecting a larger variety of international food," a man said with a mild Zulu accent. "I have such a craving for Fizz Pops," he said as he approached the stand where Reid was crouched over.

"Well this is a small store that is a holdover from the culture that first made claim to this area," a familiar female voice said.

Reid didn't dare look up. It would have been too much. They had a long history and he was still trying to figure out what remained.

The sound of the man's footsteps steps drifted away from him and he was relieved to hear that she didn't come any closer.

Then man let out a groan of frustration. "The alcohol selection is, what is it the proper English term? Pathetic."

Reid couldn't stop himself. It just wasn't in his nature to not help people in even smallest ways. With the owner flipping through a magazine at the other end of the store, Reid slowly crept over to where the man was standing.

"Sir," he said in a loud whisper, "the store two blocks from the west entrance has a larger variety multicultural wines and other non-perishables." The man looked down at him in mild surprise. "It is called Pretoria Foods," he added.

Suddenly the owner stormed between them. "What do you think you're doing?" he bellowed. Reid backed away and fell down as the man kept stomping forward. "I hired you as a charity case. You should be kissing the ground I walk on but instead you disrespect me and my business by sending my customers elsewhere," he shouted with his face turning red and he raised his enormous hand. "You're a disgrace! You need-"

"That enough!" the woman shouted. She squeezed between him and the owner. She turned and glared at him fiercely. "Is this how you treat all your employees or only the ones who are clearly smarter than you?"

Reid instantly wished he could melt into the ground. He would have preferred to have been hit by the owner over this. There he was on the ground of a greasy a convenience store, wearing red polo shirt and khakis for a uniform. He looked helpless in front of a woman who he had occasionally sparred with during conferences.

The owner held his ground. "If he is so smart, why did some pathetic case worker beg me to hire this spineless boy?" he countered.

She didn't seem at all perturbed by his response. "That is a good question," she said thoughtfully and turned her gaze to him. "I'd like to find out why also." She leaned around the owner to the look at the African man. "Mr. Asmal, would you mind if a former academic associate of mine joined us in our tour of the neighborhood?"

The man looked aghast. "Not at all Professor."

The owner was not done. "This boy's shift isn't over yet!" and then returned to glaring at Reid. "Spencer," he spitted, "if you leave now, I don't care how hard your case worker begs, I will not take you back."

Everything was happening to fast. He wondered why she wanted to help him. He wondered what the point was. Most of all he was terrified by the thought of explaining where he'd supposedly been for the last ten years.

She seemed to read his thoughts. "It's okay Reid," she said calmly. "I remember you." The word sent a volt of electricity through him. "Your articles on linguistic speech pattern analysis are still some of the commonly cited sources," she offered him her hand.

He couldn't help but take it. Reid was having a terrible time finding the right words. "Why?" he sputtered out.

The wild ramblings of his now former employer suddenly felt muted in as the three of them walked out of the store. The lighter shades of brown in her hair were visible in broad daylight.

"Some people are very hard to forget," she said nonchalantly. "And some of those people shouldn't be forgotten."

…

"So let me get this straight: A visiting professor who knew you from over ten years ago walks into the place where you work, tells your boss off, and helps you get a job at the Octavian University Library," Brice said, flabbergasted. He began to stir his mocha latte rapidly.

"That's basically the story in a nutshell," Reid said and took a sip of his coffee. He called Brice later that day and suggested meeting at a café as knew the delivery of this kind of news would require quality coffee.

Brice was still trying to piece things together. "I didn't even look at the academic libraries as most of the positions are reserved for the students in work-study programs."

Reid had an interesting story. "Last year Octavian University spent a great deal of time and resources covering up a scandal involving a video recorded in the library called 'Sex in the Stacks.' Several students who worked at the library were featured in the video and a few others made sure the room was secured. So the end result was that the administration was more open to hiring non-students who had excelled academically," Reid said.

Brice was watching him closely. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about this woman? Or more to the point is there anything else I should know about your connection to her?"

Reid remained calm as he spoke. "My association with her is of little significance. I may be inclined to try to somehow repay her what she did in the future. But as of right now she is boarding a plane home. We did not exchange contact information. As of right now, all that is connecting us is the past and it is my intention to keep it that way."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:

I was not planning on adding anything this soon. I'm still riding the high of adding a new chapter but I'm also ready to add another "teaser chapter" to add some momentum.

I really hope to get back to the story fairly soon, but I can't make any promises. I also need to read up a little more on criminology because oddly, I never took an elective on the subject despite my love for all things involving detective work.

As for how Reid knows the team: As an author sometimes certain things make perfect sense in my head yet don't translate as well onto the page. Part of it has to do with not wanting to reveal too much about the story. Reid knows about the team because he worked with them for nearly ten years (if my math is correct). After Reid is hit by the car, he still retains that information even though the events have been altered as a result of him not being on the team in this reality where he was comatose during that same period of time. I'm willing to add pop culture references in the AN if it might be helpful.

I have a feeling many readers will be a little angry after reading this chapter. Just keep in mind Reid is a guy who lost everything and might not be ready to establish new friendships. It is slow to start, but it is the start of something big.

Chapter 6:

Delia Odessa was invisible. Few people knew of her or ever noticed her walking around the Octavian University campus. She wore her brown hair in a simple braid and typically wore T-shirts containing the school logo and paired it with faded jeans. This is how she had dressed since she was a freshman and she had no idea how to change.

Originally from Reno, she chose Octavian in order to escape from her abusive foster parents and it was the only school that had offered her any scholarship money. For the third year in a row she was stuck rooming with a pair of loud rude girls who treated her bed as a sofa (among other things) as they often forgot they shared the room with her. So the library became her sanctuary.

The Martha Lorain Library was an interesting structure. Designed in the seventies, it was a four-story brick fortress with large windows in odd places. The large expansive rooms which once held thousands of reading materials had a mausoleum air about it as the empty metal shelves resembled skeletons. But the rooms that still contained numerous thick volumes felt more like home to Delia than any place where she had a bed. She would often spend hours hidden in a little desk on the perimeter with her battered laptop and only the scent of aging paper for company.

But a new interesting library worker caught her attention. Though he looked young enough to be a student, he dressed more like a professor with his ugly sweater vests and he always wore a dress shirt. More of than not she found the younger staff talking and sometimes louder than the students trying to study. But this man was different as he kept his head down and rarely spoke unless directly spoken to. One day when he was shelving books in the same areas as where she was looking for a title she noticed the name tag on his lanyard said Spencer.

She found herself dreaming of the day when he would look up long enough to notice her and simply say hello.

…

Three weeks into the semester the girl who sat next to her in Ecological Criminology suddenly asked if she'd like to join her study group at the library. The girl seemed to admire Delia's stuttering attempts at answering the shrewish professor's impossibly difficult questions. She explained how "the smart ones had to unite" if they had any chance at passing the class with good grades. They had discovered someone who was willing to help them for free. Delia was curious to meet this man and she usually ended up their anyway.

The group met in one of the more empty sections of the library at 8:00. Twelve of her fellow classmates sat at a rectangular table in front of a board covered in laminated maps with dry-erase markers in the shelf. Then at about at five minutes after 8:00 it was none other than Spencer who walked in with a brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his body language transformed.

He waited for them to quiet down and then asked questions about the things they learned and the things they didn't understand. He sometimes sounded like he was almost bragging about his encyclopedic knowledge, other times he sounded like he was reciting passages from an encyclopedia, and other times he sounded like he was speaking more to himself than the students. It was odd though when some of the facts he recited were wrong and he tried very hard to conceal his frustration. Delia noted that most of the errors were from cases taking place in the last ten years.

Delia took tremendous delight in getting the chance to interact with him. He nodded with approval when she answered his questions correctly and never berated her when she was wrong. By the end of the hour she felt like she had made a connection to this man who seemed like as much a shadow at the school as she was.

He didn't linger after the meeting. Few people actually knew much about him except that he was something of a genius with multiple degrees. He was rumored to have been in some sort of car accident that prevented him from getting a better job. The story goes that he overheard the group talking through some of the homework and offered to help them after his shift ended. When he demonstrated his level of knowledge on the subject, they were convinced that some sort of higher power had come to save their GPAs.

Delia left the meeting with high hopes of making an interesting friend at the Martha Lorain Library.

…

Later in the afternoon she found Spencer shelving books in the Russian literature section. She nervously approached him and said "hi" in what she hoped was a cheerful tone.

Spencer looked up at her briefly. "Hello," he said in a monotone voice. He then returned to his work.

Delia tittered a little. "That was a really great tutoring session you lead yesterday," she said in the same cheerful voice.

He didn't even look at her this time. "Thanks," he replied.

She wasn't ready to give up yet. "The way you mapped out the neighborhoods and how they over-lapped with other high risk-neighborhoods was truly-"

He suddenly stopped and looked at her with mild irritation. "I really need to get back to work now."

She fought of the sense of rejection a little longer. "Okay," she stuttered. "Then maybe we could meet after your shift to discuss how geographic profiling-"

"I'm sorry but I really don't have time," he said bluntly. "I also having other things to do that require my attention immediately."

She tried suppress the level of sadness in her voice. "Okay," she said and slowly backed away, "I guess I'll leave you to your work."

He gave the slightest of nods as she dashed away before her tears welled to the surface.

She never came to another tutoring session. When people asked, she lied and said she had to call her family and read a bed-time story to her younger siblings. She and Spencer occasionally passed each other in the library and it was as if their interaction during and after the session never happened. It bothered her for several days, but in the end she concluded that there was nothing worth noticing about her.

…

One night she found herself breathing heavily as she raced across the city to attend a lecture for extra credit a professor was giving at an art gallery. She got off the bus at the wrong place and was trying to jog the last two blocks to arrive on time.

She stopped to catch breath for a second and leaned her back against a lamp post. Suddenly she felt a man grab her throat from behind. He was wearing a ski mask and kept a firm grip on her throat as he pulled her into an alleyway.

She slowly bled out after he lightly cut her throat with a razor-thin blade. As he cut her hair with the precision of a stylist, all Delia could think of was how Spencer might've found her murderer if he was in law-enforcement and if she was one or the first of many to die at the hands of this Un-Sub.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

It's Round Table Time! Time to test my skills in creating parts of a CM episode! I confess I don't have as firm a grasp on the Brit Mick Rawson character from CM: Suspect Behavior. I'll try to have the next chapter up before Friday, but no promises as THE DARK KNIGHT RISES! (Sorry I am a huge comic geek.)

Chapter 7:

All the members of the BAU team were bleary-eyed when they arrived in the conference room at Quantico. Morgan and J.J. were standing next the monitor as the team took seats and cups of coffee were distributed.

"Sorry to call you in so early," Morgan said. "But the Las Vegas PD feels this case requires our immediate attention." He turned and nodded at J.J.

J.J. pulled out the remote and turned on the monitor. "On Saturday twenty-one year-old Delia Odessa was found with her throat slit in an alley in a suburb of Las Vegas. She was a junior at Octavian University, and was on her way to attend an extra credit lecture at an art Gallery on Friday." Her Octavian University ID photo appeared. "Today another Octavian University student named Tina Billson was found with her throat slit in the driveway of a vacant house forty feet away from her off-campus sorority house. They believe it happened sometime before midnight on Monday" Her Octavian University ID photo appeared. The ID photos were then put side-by-side.

The team stared at the screen curiously. Mick looked at the photos intently. "Both girls are found in different sections of the city. Of different ages and race, so aside from school, what is the connection?"

J.J. clicked the remote again. "This," she said and their crime scene photos appeared. And a few gasped. "Well this is a first," Rossi remarked.

The girl's hair had been cut and styled. Delia Odessa's hair had been cut down to a pixie-cut, and pieces of her had been scattered around her body and the ground in the form of a heart. Tina Billson's long dark frizzy hair had been flat-ironed and trimmed into a flip. Pieces of her hair had been scattered in a similar shape.

"Pieces of what the police believe to be Delia's hair was found on Tina's body," J.J. said. "The police reports are loaded on your tablets," she said as the team flipped open the tablets.

Elle flipped through the crime scene photos. "Were there any signs of sexual assault found?"

"No," J.J. said.

"That suggests the UnSub may be impotent," Elle said. "A woman considers her hair part of her identity. If their hair was being cut while the women were dying, it might have been excruciating."

Morgan nodded his head. "That definitely something to ask the coroner about," he said and then approached the table.

"The other thing these women have in common was the fact that they were both criminology majors at the school." Morgan sounded dead-serious. "Guys there are five thousand students on that campus. This Un-Sub is targeting women of different races, residences, and killing them in different locations. So it is more than likely he works or lives at the school."

Morgan turned and took the remote and changed the pictures back to the ID photos of the girls. "We are going need to look into every detail of their lives. This Un-Sub chose these girls in particular for a reason. We are also going to need to do everything we can about what goes on at this campus. And we only have three days based on the current pattern."

J.J. spoke next. "The school is giving us complete access to their facilities and more than willing to comply with any of our requests. However," she said, slightly rolling her eyes. "They want their name kept out of the press. Some sort of porn movie was made on-campus last year and they're trying to rebuild their reputation."

"Even it means covering up a murder?" Rossi said.

"But so far none of the murders have occurred on campus," Morgan responded. "Our best option is to stay on good terms with the administration and spread the word for students to be hyper-vigilant."

Morgan opened the door. "Wheels up in twenty."

…

"Man's unique agony as a species consists in his perpetual conflict between the desire to stand out and the need to blend in."

~ Sydney Harris

"Well it's been a long time since I lived on a college campus," Rossi remarked from his seat on the plane.

J.J. laughed. "Not exactly Rossi, we're living at the president's mansion while he's on sabbatical."

"Now that sounds much better," Rossi responded.

Elle looked at Mick sitting across from her. "You know you're going to be our go-to man on campus," she said flirtatiously.

Mick didn't look up from his table. "It seems the accent is more of a turn on than the looks," he said.

"I wouldn't go that far," Elle said twisting a lock of her hair. "I think it's a perfect combination of both."

J.J. waved to her hand from across the aisle. "Hello? Earth to Elle? Husband six feet away from you."

Elle laughed. "I'm just giving our British mascot a taste of what to expect at the school. Don't you think he looks like the guy who won all those medals-"

"That's enough!" Morgan shouted from the seat across the room. He stood up and glared at them. "This is not something to kid around about. The plane lands in thirty minutes, and I expect everyone to be ready to work."

The plane went silent and Morgan took a seat as far away from the group as possible. Rossi slowly walked to his side.

"Something else on your mind Derek?" he asked quietly.

Morgan didn't answer immediately. He looked out the window. "Rossi, do you ever feel as though something is going to go wrong before we even land?"

"All the time," he said to Morgan's surprise.

"Right now all we have are what the police have given us Derek. It is so much easier to see what could go wrong based on the information we know hasn't been collected properly. That is why we do this Derek. It is our job to find the right information to apprehend the Un-Sub."

Morgan turned and stared across the cabin. "Thanks for the reminder Rossi," he said. "But you know that is not what I'm talking about."

Rossi sighed. "I know."

…

They arrived at noon and were working out of the large conference room at the Octavian University police office. J.J. spent much of the time in the school's public relations office. Rossi and Morgan visited the crime scenes and Elle met with the coroner. Mick looked at maps of the school and the surrounding neighborhoods before going on campus to speak with students who knew the victims. He was later joined by Elle and gave talks on the importance of hyper-vigilance at the largest dorms.

J.J. brought takeout from Chipotle when they converged at the police station around six o'clock. No one was particularly pleased with their findings.

There wasn't any evidence that the girls knew each other and their schedules didn't over-lap. Delia Odessa didn't seem to have any friends and a few people said they saw her at the library regularly. Tina Billson was out-going, well-liked and involved in several clubs.

Morgan and Rossi even found the ways the Un-Sub chose the victims were different. Morgan determined that Tina was most likely observed from one of the neighboring houses regularly and was a victim of opportunity. Rossi believed that Delia was stalked by the Un-Sub as her trip across town was a departure from her regular routine.

Elle couldn't find any conclusive evidence as to whether the girls were alive when their hair was being cut. The coroner was able to provide a handful of suggestions as to the kind of knife used to murder them. Trace evidence of the kind of styling products used was being processed by the crime lab and they wouldn't know the results for another few hours.

Mick and Elle did find something of interest when they were making their last rounds on campus. It seemed that there was some sort of unofficial club on campus called the Dead Profilers Club meeting tonight.

"Dead Profilers Club?" J.J. asked as she picked at her salad. "Why didn't I hear anything about this when I was speaking with the dean?"

Mick took a large bite out of his burrito before answering. "I believe that might have something to with do why it is called a club. A reference to the famous movie quote 'first rule of fight club'."

Elle nibbled at an edge of her taco. "I think the 'the dead profilers' part suggests that they may be learning more during the meeting than what is taught in class."

"And there is no love for the department," Mick added. "The students hate the teachers who stayed on after the scandal robbed the school of its best professors and their replacements are 'unqualified hacks' as one way a student put it."

J.J. was mildly intrigued. "How is a club like this kept secret anyway? With all the social networking sites and the size of this school, I would have expected to heard about it by now."

Mick stopped eating and rubbed his hands together. "Oh this is the good part. The group meets to seek help from this mysterious tutor. They believe he works at the library but he refuses to help a group larger than fifteen. He has been known to walk out of the room if he sees more than that number and they say he has helped students improve their grades by as much as twenty percent."

"In other words," Elle said. "If they want this guy to stick around to be their all-knowing god or something, they have to keep his identity quiet. Other students in the department hope to grab a spot once the seniors leave or if a few transfer out at the end of the semester."

Rossi had given up on eating his taco bowl and looked mildly annoyed. "So where do we find this 'secret meeting' and when does it start?"

"Third floor, in the section labeled QL for scientific studies, at eight o'clock," Elle replied.

Morgan had already finished his meal and had remained quiet. "Two of us should go to that meeting. These kids might know more based on their commitment to investigative studies."

J.J. ate the last bits of lettuce out of her plate and began to clean up. "Well I nominate Rossi," she said.

Rossi didn't look thrilled about the idea. "Why me? I can't exactly relate to these kids. I can't-"

"Rossi at least three of your books are listed as required reading," J.J. said. "They would be more than thrilled to meet the famous profiler on their book jackets. And if I recall correctly at your last signing, there was a large crowd of young women-"

"Alright, alright," Rossi said. "I'll go meet my adoring fans. So who else would like to join me?"

The room was quiet. "I think it should be you Derek," Elle said.

Morgan looked stunned. "Why? I don't exactly present the most assuring figure-"

"Morgan you're the only other person who hasn't been seen around campus," J.J. piped in. "You're also in charge of the investigation. These students, who are serious about their studies as you pointed out, would feel honored to receive your attention."

Morgan looked around at all of them with their heads nodding with approval. "So I take it the decision is unanimous?"

"You still have the power of veto boss," Rossi said lightly.

Morgan groaned. "I'll go."

…

"The first thing I'm going to do when we're done is talk to campus security about having all the upper floors closed off after 7:00," Morgan said as they climbed the stairs. "There are too many places for someone to hide and take their targets by surprise."

Rossi was huffing a little. "After that, I'm going to suggest having the elevators fixed go to the top of the maintenance priority list. I can't imagine all of these kids wanting to climb this high just to find a book on quantum physics."

Morgan couldn't help but smile. "Well it is one way to encourage physical fitness."

Rossi offered no response as they finally reached the third floor.

The room had an eerie feel to it as they entered. There were endless rows of empty metal shelves that almost resembled narrow cages. Judging from the sound, they determined the meeting area must be in back of the room.

As they moved closer they could hear the sound of voices bouncing off the metal shelves. The sound became more isolated to one particular voice. Morgan felt shivers going down his back. He looked to Rossi and he had a similar reaction. They could hear what sounded like criminology terms. The voice wasn't so much as scary it was unnerving.

They finally reached the end of the shelves and found where the students were sitting at parallel rectangular tables facing a board covered in maps. A thin young man with slightly long brown hair wearing a white dress shirt and black dress pants was circling locations on a map of what looked like Los Angeles.

"Remember the dump site of the body reveals lot about the level of sophistication of the Un-Sub. If it is-"he suddenly stopped talking and looked across the room. He looked directly at Morgan.

The way this man stared at him froze Morgan on the spot. The man seemed equally stunned. Yet there was also something piercing about the man's gaze. Something that bordered on a level of-

"I don't believe it Spence," one of the students suddenly shouted. "You predicted right down to the minute as to when the agents would arrive and even which ones."


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: With a Slight Slant and a little longer as I am posting a link to this on Facebook.

(Avert your eyes my former professors, who found this by chance. Grammar mayhem is afoot.)

I put off seeing The Dark Knight Rises to publish this chapter tonight. This is a huge deal as I have loved comics longer than CM and I dream of writing my own one day. It also has to do with being awake for work tomorrow, but mainly to add my favorite chapter.

So why did I do this? Because I have a story to tell and people who want to read it right now. I have been writing this all day between family madness. I didn't want to stop to see a movie alone at midnight and then have to go to work at noon exhausted knowing that there would be mayhem involving animals being brought in.

Bottom line: I think I grew up tonight thanks to the readers and reviewers of this story. I'll see the movie before I go to work and be content.

This is actually the part of the story I have been looking forward to writing the most. I would have liked to have done more research, but I'll polish it up eventually. It is very long but I couldn't think of any good ways to chop it down. Expect the next chapter by Sunday at the latest while I figure out how to connect the dots.

Chapter 8:

The man called Spencer broke his gaze with Morgan and glared at the students, some of who were exchanging money.

"I told you guys you couldn't place bets on whether I would be right!" he said.

"Correction," a girl with pink high-lights in her hair said as she passed a five across the table, "you said we couldn't make bets with you. You never said anything about not letting us make bets with each other."

"You taught us well obi-wan," a boy with dreadlocks said.

Spencer rolled his eyes. His gaze quickly returned to him and Rossi. "My apologies agents," he said and waved for them to come forward, "my name is Spencer Reid and I work here as a collection maintenance assistant," he quickly pulled out of his front his university ID attached to a red lanyard to show them. "I also tutor students in criminology during my time off for free," he added and quickly gestured towards the students in front of them.

"You forgot to mention we have offered to pay you several times," a guy with shaggy blond hair shouted.

"And that you are insanely over-qualified for the job you are paid for," a girl with cornrows in her hair added.

"Enough!" Spencer shouted. "These agents are here to investigate the murders of two students. Two students in your department," he turned to him and Rossi. "I assume you're here to ask them about what they might know about the recently deceased students."

The students looked immediately ashamed.

Rossi spoke first. "Actually I think we'd like to see the rest of your lecture Mr. Reid," Rossi looked to Morgan and he nodded. "I'm guessing you guys still have class tomorrow and some of you may need all the help you can get."

Reid looked uncertainly at Morgan. "I'm not sure, don't you want to speak-"

"Not just yet," Morgan said. "It's been a while since I heard a lecture on the geographic profiling."

"Come on Spence," a guy with close-cropped dark hair said. "Show them your stuff!"

Spencer glared the man. "Alright but I will not tolerate any more shouts like that. Ask questions about the material and nothing else," he said.

Morgan and Rossi leaned against another table and watched the students as they listened to Reid.

Reid returned to his maps. "Now where were…"

…

Rossi and Morgan kept exchanging sideways glances as they watched Reid give his lecture. He was using sophisticated terminology and was managing to explain it so that the students could understand. Morgan wasn't surprised by the fact their grade had risen so much. Morgan got the definite impression that students were nervous about asking questions because of their presence, but Reid reminded them of the date of the upcoming exam and after that the students seemed more at ease. He wasn't nearly as harsh when he answered their questions and even praised them when they answered correctly.

Morgan also noticed that Reid kept his gaze aimed straight at the students. He twitched a little every time he came close to looking at him and Rossi.

"Well I think that's about it for tonight," Reid said as he put the markers on the tray.

The room went completely silent. He has met many people who enjoyed studying criminology and some even did a decent job at sounding like an agent. But this was completely different. Morgan wondered who the heck this guy was.

But first he had to do what he was planning when he heard about this club.

Morgan stepped forward. "Thank you Mr. Reid," he said and gestured for Rossi to come forward. "My name is Senior Special Supervisory Unit Chief Agent Derek Morgan and this is Senior Special Supervisory Agent David Rossi. We're going to ask you a few questions about Delia Odessa, and Tina Billson. Then we're going to ask about anything 'strange' and we'll define strange, happening on campus, and then we're going to stress the importance of hyper vigilance. Does that sound okay to you guys?"

They all nodded their heads. Morgan rubbed his hands together. "Did any of you know Delia Odessa?" They all shook their heads. Then Reid approached them. "Cass, didn't you bring her to the second meeting in September?"

A girl with short stringy blond hair nodded. "Yeah, but I didn't know her really. She just sat next to me in the Drewler's class and I invited her because I didn't want that idiot Belson in our group."

"Did she come to any more meetings?" Rossi asked.

Cass shook her head. "She gave some excuse about reading to her siblings over the phone. I never did get why she didn't come back."

"I might," Reid said quietly. Everyone looked directly at him and he stared at the ground. "Delia spent a great deal of time here, even more than me I am certain. I think she was just looking for someone to talk to outside these walls someday. I ignored her when she tried to start a conversation with me the next day and I think I hurt her feelings." The guy looked genuinely sorry.

Morgan and Rossi exchanged looks. He took a few steps towards Reid. "Mr. Reid right now we know a great deal about Tina Billson's social habits, but you're the first person to tell us something new about Delia. Why don't we go over there and you can tell me more about her," he calmly, gesturing toward the far corner.

Reid nodded his head slightly.

"He didn't do it!" one of the girls shouted suddenly.

"Who said he did?" Rossi asked staring them.

"Come on," one of the guys said breezily, "if I were one of you guys Spencer would be at the top of my suspect list."

"He works on campus, knows tons about police work, and doesn't look threatening," another guy explained.

"And no one-"

"Stop!" Reid shouted. "You are not profilers!" He sounded more in control again. "This is exactly what I don't want you to do. It is one thing to observe your surroundings, but making snap-conclusions is a completely different thing."

He raised his hands in an assuring way. "I am sure all of you have seen or heard about agents being on campus, most of them simply walking around. Right now they are just asking questions to get a sense of the atmosphere. And if I find out that any you interfered with the investigation in any way I won't show up to these sessions again," he added sternly.

Morgan couldn't believe how well this guy was handling himself. "You couldn't be more correct Mr. Reid," he said in an encouraging tone. "I just have a few questions that may be easier to answer without so many distractions around." He looked at the large group of students whose expressions ranged from panicked to intrigued.

Rossi grabbed a seat and placed in front of the students. "I think I can I handle things here boss," he said as he sat down.

Reid and Morgan walked out of sight as Rossi asked "How did this…"

…

"Usually you can see the Roman statues mounted at the tips of the columns of the president's mansion," Reid said absent-mindedly as he stared out the wind he was leaning its ledge. "The campus was named after the founder of the Roman Empire by a wealthy Italian business mogul, but a few poor business investments prevented him adding more Romanesque elements of architecture to the campus."

The guy's random recitation of facts was most likely a coping mechanism. He looked out of it yet still very alert.

"Interesting," Morgan said half-heartedly. "Now tell me about Delia Odessa."

Reid kept looking out the window. "There isn't much more to tell. I guessed early on that she was an upper-classmen based on how she knew her way around the buildings and her clothing with school symbols were faded. She didn't look like she came from wealth as her backpack was ripped in several places and her phone was of an older model. I noticed she carried a few folders bearing the school crest so I assumed she did clerical work as part of a work study program. She tried to eat healthy out of the café as she was always eating multi-grain bagels with soy milk whenever I saw her. And she also seemed particularly fond of reading African folk tales."

Morgan didn't know how to react. He claimed to not know much but he seemed to notice everything. "I wouldn't define that 'not much more to tell' Mr. Reid. Do you observe everyone in the library as much as her?"

He still wouldn't look directly at him. "I have a photographic memory Agent Morgan. I see things and I can't forget them. Delia Odessa is different as her presence forms a pattern in my mind now that I am aware of lack of her appearance here," he said with a slight tremble in his voice.

"Did you know Tina Billson?"

"She only appeared a handful of times that I noticed and she was always with a group of friends. The more I think about it the more I think she might have been in a relationship with Sam Myers, the student who sat in the third seat on the outer perimeter of the row of tables to my left."

The guy seemed to know everything. And why did that thought sound so familiar in his head? He took a few steps closer to Reid so that he would feel more compelled to look directly at him. "That is very helpful Mr. Reid. Now tell me about yourself. How does a guy of your intelligence end up in a job like this?"

A very pained looked on his face appeared. "I was in a car accident that put me in a coma for a while. It is very hard to get a job at a higher level when you have to explain your lack of job experience a for certain period of time as being medically-related, no matter how many PHDs you have attached to your name."

This really shocked Morgan. "PHD's plural? How many do you have and in what?"

"Chemistry, engineering, and mathematics," he said almost bitterly.

"So how did you become an expert in criminology?"

Reid didn't answer him immediately and somehow made sure he wasn't looking at him. "Chemistry, mathematic, engineering, they can be used to teach, create, and develop monetary wealth. But you can also combine all these disciplines to look at things differently. Heinous things, things that haunt you in your sleep. At some point during my studies, I stumbled across a biography of the lead developer of profiling named Howard Tetan. The book inspired me Morgan. I wanted to look for the patterns in the real world to save lives. I wanted apprehend those responsible for hurting and killing people."

The guy looked despondent. "Then I lost everything as a result of that accident," he said with a more distinct tremble in his voice.

This was too much to take in, too many questions to ask. Morgan got directly in his face. "Who are you Mr. or Dr. Reid? And why did you just refer to me simply as Morgan?"

He looked like he was on the verge of tears. "I feel like I could've been your intellectual equal Morgan- Agent Morgan. I guess it just slipped as a result of wishful thinking." He squeezed carefully out of Morgan's gaze and turned away.

Reid sounded like he was taking a few steadying breaths before he turned to face him. "Agent Morgan if you don't have any further questions, I'd like to leave now to catch the 9:30 bus home." He pulled a card out of his pocket. "This has all my contact information on it and I have no verifiable alibis on the nights Delia and Tina were murdered," he said as he handed the card to Morgan.

The guy looked clearly spent and Morgan couldn't think of any more questions to ask him after absorbing so much information. "We'll contact you if we have any more questions," Morgan said what hoped was a less aggressive tone. "But you shouldn't be walking around here alone."

Reid was already walking towards the exit and briefly turned to him. "Agent Morgan I don't think I fall within the Un-Sub's target range. I'll be fine," he said and continued towards the exit, leaving Morgan with more questions than answers.

…

"Well say what you will about these kids who seemed over-excited and about the idea of a murderer on the loose at their school, but they did provide some useful leads," Rossi said as they walked through the court-yard to get to the conference room.

Morgan was only half-listening. "It's probably a coping mechanism. They're exposed to death and violence in their text books and studying to get a job from looking after at all of that. It might have been something of a release to let their theories out into the open."

"Good point," Rossi said. "So do you think this genius tutor could be our Un-Sub? The kids did have some valid points. And creating a signature this unique is one way to get the attention of the BAU."

"No," Morgan responded. "The guy cares too much about the students. He is definitely hiding something, but I don't think it is related to the murders."

"That's what I was thinking. When you went off to have your chat with Mister 'O my Captain! My Captain!" the kids wouldn't stop talking about the guy. They said he acted arrogant and aloof at times, but he was insanely committed to helping them succeed. And a few girls admitted to having a crush on him and he completely oblivious to it. One guy even admitted to having a 'man-crush' on him. I've never heard of that one."

For the first time since they arrive in Las Vegas Morgan was genuinely amused. "So there are a few things, you still don't know about Rossi."

"Hey I know most of the songs you have on your iPhone."

This reminded Morgan of the something. He pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia's number.

"Hey sweetness I thought you forgot about me," Garcia answered.

Garcia's voice always made him feel better. "How could I possibly forget you baby-girl?"

"You tell me."

"Fair point. Rossi is going to be sending you a big list of names to look up. But first I'd like you to look into a guy named Spencer Reid for me right now if you can."

"You know I'm capable of anything my hotness. Now spell his last name out for me. I don't even want to think about the number of variations."

Morgan pulled out Reid's card. "R-E-I-D" he said and suddenly his world went spinning.

Every night Hotch visited his dreams, he always appeared in same suit and tie. He always said only one word. One word that he may have been misinterpreting for all these years. Every time he would respond aloud and in his dreams shouting _Read what Hotch? Read What!_

"Hello Morgan? Earth to the god of all that is hot and gorgeous!" Garcia shouted.

Morgan snapped out of it. "I'm sorry Garcia. What did you find?" He put the phone on speaker-phone.

"Something by chance. I don't know how it popped on to my computers so quickly. This guy you had me look into, up until May 26th he was in coma. Morgan he was in a coma for nearly ten years! How he involved in all of this?"

Morgan and Rossi looked each other; tired confused and wanting to believe there wouldn't be any more surprises tonight.

"I have no idea Penelope. I really don't."


	9. Chapter 9

Lengthy Author's Note about lack of updates, when to possibly expect updates, and some story information.

Special Hint: If you want to the attention of a writer who has been absent for an unusually long period of time, add a fresh review. When I saw the latest review I couldn't help but laugh and want to apologize at the same time.

My two main excuses 1: I just simply ran out of steam, mentally and creatively.

2: While I have no direct connection to anything that happened in Aurora, Colorado it still affected me. A mad man chose to kill twelve people and injured 58 others because they went to see one of the best movies of the summer. I wrote a Batman-Criminal Minds crossover a few days ago to try to write out my frustrations. It might be worth checking out simply because Garcia gets more attention in that story than she will here.

This is only the B plot. Though I don't like the idea in general, I am willing to consider comments about cutting the story in two when it gets to a certain point and you will definitely know where. This chapter is another transition piece to tie up some loose ends and set up a few plot points.

To address a reviewer's comment: I understand questions about Reid's tone. He's still the same character on the show. He cares deeply for people and doesn't always know how to express it especially now.

Chapter 9:

This was the first on-campus death. Morgan and Rossi recognized her from the tutoring session last night. Twenty-year-old lacrosse athlete Ruth Gerski was found by Campus P.D. at around five a.m. in the center of the main court-yard in front of a statue of one of the school's founders. Her chin-length red hair had been cut into a mow-hawk. There was a mixture of Delia Odessa and Tina Billson's hair scattered around her in shape of a heart.

"It appears our presence has emboldened him," Rossi said as he leaned over to look at the body amid the other law enforcement agents hovering around the scene, "to make a clear statement to the school."

"That nowhere is safe," Morgan said. He stared around the campus. The court yard was a large space surrounded by a classroom building, the student union, the library, and an administration building. The provost's office had a clear view of the crime scene.

J.J. came jogging forward. She looked tense. "Morgan the administration refuses to rescind their lock-down orders. The police are still going through the dorms individually."

Morgan swore. "This is not a full-on assault situation! They won't find anything raiding the dorms as he uses household materials for weapons."

"Leaving a lot of scared kids as a result," J.J. commented.

Rossi got up and let a crime scene unit process the scene. "How is the press reacting to all of this J.J.?"

"They're out for blood. They're angry the school has been keeping the situation under-wraps. They're also blaming us as co-conspirators," she said looking defeated.

"Morgan you're going to have to speak with the press yourself," Rossi said. "J.J.'s words don't carry nearly as much weight in a situation like this."

Morgan nodded. "I know. But I don't know is what to else I can say to them. Right now all we know is that someone was able to impersonate a part-time campus cop claiming to return early from a leave of absence early and manage to remotely shut-down the three security cameras covering this area."

"So that basically tells us that the guy is high-functioning, technologically skilled, and highly theatrical," Rossi said.

"Which is why the special dorms for theater majors are being raided first," J.J. said with a sigh and looked at Morgan. "You don't think it is one of them do you?"

"Right now the Un-Sub is trying very hard to make it look like it. And that is all I can give the press," Morgan said.

"Which might also be an interesting way to get the Un-Sub's attention if we allow that theory to circulate to make him think we're not on to him," Rossi said.

"Or it could cause him to escalate," Morgan countered and looked around at the buildings again. He angled his hand over his brow to block out the early-morning light and focused his gaze on the library. He could see the silhouettes of heads moving in the windows. "Rossi I thought we told library security to shut the place down after we left?"

"We did," Rossi said and walked over to where Morgan was standing. "The campus has been shut down since the body was discovered by another cop at 5:15. So whoever is in there-"

"Has probably been there since last night," Morgan finished. "What do you say we go find out whom?"

"I bet we're going to find some familiar faces," Rossi said.

…

Reid craved it. He craved it badly. Just one shot to make it all go away.

He was curled up in a ball in front of his couch. A local morning news show was on his bulky TV. Clips showing over-head shots of the Octavian University court yard with the headlines alternating between "Octavian student murdered on campus," and "third student killed by possible serial killer." He was clutching his cell phone with the lock-down alert text still on the screen.

But he wasn't looking his phone or the TV, but his wall of maps and photos. Reid had all the information he could get his hands on but none of it was helping him. He used the TV and internet for information about the locations of the crimes and the few details been released. He then tried to recall every detail about Tina, Delia, his tutoring group, and everyone else who had ever been in contact with them. He had drawn diagrams, made notes and threw his markers across the floor in the end. The undeniable truth was that he Spencer Reid was not a profiler anymore. He didn't have access the same resources. He had to trust Morgan and his team that was once his also would apprehend the Un-Sub. Morgan's business card was on his uneven coffee table, damp with sweat and tears.

There was a rapping on his apartment door. Reid ignored it.

"Reid, its Christopher Brice. Open up before I wake your neighbors."

He covered his ears with his arms. But Brice continued to knock.

"Reid you haven't returned any of my calls. I'm worried about you."

Reid desperately willed him to go away.

"Come on Spencer," he nearly shouted. "Open the door."

This jolted Reid into action. He had grown sick of hearing his first name used by people who didn't really know him. He let the students use his first name because it was on his staff ID card and he wanted to keep as many details of his life private as possible. Over the years he had been razed by his team about the appropriateness of his name given his fondness of books and his resemblance to the plant (something he over-heard more than in front of him). As ridiculous as it sounds, he even missed hearing Morgan calling him pretty-boy.

"What do you want Brice?" Reid asked as he pulled open the door.

"Reid what the heck happened to you?" Brice is his usual rumpled suit, pushed open the door further and walked inside. He turned to take in the sight of Reid in his wrinkled sweat-stained dress shirt. His sleeves had been hiked up as his will power waxed and waned. His eyes were blood-shot and he knew he looked gaunt.

"You woke me up," Reid said weakly. "And what are you doing up this early anyway?" he asked trying to deflect attention.

"I highly doubt that. As for me, I always get an early start and when I turned on the local news I decided to stop by your place before I made my rounds."

Brice looked around his disorganized apartment and stopped dead in front of his wall of maps. "Well this doesn't look healthy," he commented with bemusement.

"I think they've already ruled me out as a suspect," Reid said quickly. He suddenly realized how bad this looked to an outsider.

But oddly Brice seemed to take it in stride. "That's nice to hear. Now I don't need to worry about getting my collection of shrunken heads out of my apartment. If my office had to be ransacked for evidence I know I would have had a severe nervous breakdown."

Brice kept looking at the maps. "You really have been trying to solve this thing haven't you?"

Reid approached the maps. "I can't 'solve' it Brice. I don't have enough information."

"So why did you make this?" he asked.

Reid shrugged his shoulders. "People I know are being killed. I was training to be an FBI agent. I can't stop myself from trying to act like one." Reid suddenly punched the board lightly. "But I know I'm not really helping anyone," he said and looked away.

Brice continued to examine the map. "It still looks impressive." He focused his attention on the map of bus routes. "Your map is outdated you know."

This caught Reid's attention. "Really? How?"

He pointed to the second dot before where Delia Odessa's body was found. "This stop was discontinued two weeks ago." Brice rolled his eyes as at Reid's surprised expression. "I am in regular contact with metro board of transportations. Many of the people I work with need to have a consistent schedule. I have the largest concentration group home facilities marked on my own maps."

Reid looked at the bus map closely. "Why was this stop discontinued?"

"My understanding is the traffic was too dense there to make a proper stop."

Reid then turned to the street map. "From what I've learned on the news, the center of the crime took place here," he said and pointed to the dot. "And there is an alleyway that cuts right through there for the Un-Sub escape to enter and escape through between those dots."

"What makes you think this killer-or Un-Sub didn't just get off the stop with her?"

He shook his head. "There is an ATM kiosk between where Delia got off by mistake. The police would have had a composite sketch or the surveillance footage released to the media. She had to have been pulled into the alley."

"So the Un-Sub is probably extremely fit to run through that alley to catch her," Brice said following his lead.

Reid was still confused about something. "But Brice, that stop was discontinued."

"Reid, I know some of these drivers," Brice said seriously. "They're reasonable guys who are willing to bend the rules for some these people with special needs. There is an older home for the developmentally delayed not far from this stop. They wouldn't think to mention dropping off someone who looked harmless to keep their jobs."

Brice suddenly checked his phone. "It's ten after six. There's a diner not far from the bus garage. Get ready in ten and we might find a few drivers and even waiters who know more about what goes on than all the higher-ups combined."

"We?" Reid asked. He never thought of Brice as the inquisitive type. "This sounds like something you shouldn't be encouraging me to get involved in."

Brice forcefully grabbed his left forearm. "You were ready to harm yourself weren't you?" he said seriously and looked at for needle marks. "Reid I know your therapist has a kid trapped in that school and can't help you right now. You feel things differently. Seeing those agents also reminded you of the life you could wanted before the accident. I can't stop you from trying to find answers so I might as well help and make sure you don't get hurt."

Reid looked at Brice. This man wanted to help him do what might possibly constitute as interfering with a federal investigation. "How did you develop investigative skills? Don't you have other clients? Why are you helping me?"

Brice spoke quickly as he walked to his bathroom. "The short answers are: I watch too much 'Law and Order.' I am a pro at rearranging my schedules. And I really don't want a smart guy like you to throw everything away."

He opened the door to his bathroom. "I'm going to search you're place for drugs. I won't report you and I won't throw them out until we have a serious discussion about all this later. I just don't want you to think about using them while we're out."

Reid nodded his head and went into his bedroom. For the first time since he "woke up" realized he truly wasn't alone. That there were people looking out for him that weren't part of the BAU.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: (Someone tell me to shut up if you hate the length of them.)

I hate deadlines. I am feeling very emotional about how I am fairly certain this will be my last 15,000+ word story. Time is running through my fingers like sand as the grueling routine of school and work starts in late August. That's not to say you won't be seeing stories seen by me in the fall but just not like this.

I finally managed to wring this chapter out and it is has worn me out and jump-started my excitement about this story again. With regards to updating, it kills me to say I can't make any definite promises.

Research Note: I know the bus line doesn't exist. I'm keeping the locations as vague as possible. I am not commenting on the situation with bus drivers Las Vegas specifically. These are just general comments about the state of the economy.

Chapter 10:

When the occasional Vegas tourist Googles "Last Stop Diner" they typically expect some sort of grim reaper theme. Instead they open the door to find the typical layout of a greasy spoon with the occasional metro bus-related artwork on the walls. They leave quickly when they see a crowd of mostly older haggard-looking men sitting at the counter.

But Brice knew the owner was a fairly good-humored man. When the owner Jimmy Sterns saw Brice and Reid enter he immediately put in an order a for a ham and cheese omelet and motioned for them to sit near the end of the bar where there were less customers.

"So what brings you to my humble corner this early Brice?" Jimmy asked as he poured them mugs of coffee. "And whose the runt?" he said with a note of sarcasm.

"He is tagging along to see a day in the life of a service coordinator," Brice said casually as this was the story he and Reid had come up with before-hand.

"Then maybe I should be adding whisky to his cup," Jimmy responded.

Reid looked down at the menu. Brice made it clear to Reid that he would do most of the talking before Reid could do his "profiling bit."

"Don't get me started," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway I'm here to find out if any of the drivers around here are still making 'special' stops for any of my people. You know the old 510 was really messed up by the last round of budget cuts and there are quite a few homes in that area. I have a few who were stuck with some late work shifts recently so do you know who was driving evening shift of Friday night?"

The bell was rung and Jimmy ran to kitchen and returned with an enormous omelet. He placed it in front of Reid. "I won't tell you more until the kid eats half of it," he said flatly. "A pair of show girls from the Rio ended up here a few days ago and they looked twice the size of him."

Reid looked embarrassed. There was no denying the guy looked sickly. Brice tried to sound light-hearted. "It's not a bad deal Reid. I swear the food here gives you more energy than five cans of Red Bull."

Reid took a few tentative bites and then began to dig into it, looking slightly less miserable.

"Business must be good if you're doing charity work," Brice commented.

"Just trying to build my case for St. Peter to let me in the pearly gates, I am really sick of this hot weather," Jimmy said.

Brice couldn't help but chuckle. What he'd give to live closer to this place.

Reid had rapidly eaten through the half of the omelet. Brice laced his fingers together. "Okay Jimmy the guy held up his part of the bargain. Now tell me who did the 510 evening route on Friday?"

"The poor guy at the other end," Jimmy replied and pointed the opposite end of the diner where the sole occupant was a shaggy gray-haired man with a thick beard. He looked he was picking at his meal like as it was burnt to a crisp.

"He just switched shifts and it has completely screwed up his clock," Jimmy commented.

"He looks familiar, what's his name?"

"Jake Sanford. The guy has been driving buses for twenty years and he is still just making ends meet," he said with disgust.

This was their cue to approach the guy. To his surprise (and relief) Reid finished the entire meal. Brice stood up and he followed suit.

"I promise we won't bother the guy for too long Jimmy," Brice said as he pulled out his wallet and threw ten on the counter.

Jimmy pushed the money back. "It's on the house so long as you slip a couple of them to Jake without him noticing," he said.

"No problem," Reid said and picked up sugar packet and did some sort of trick that made disappear in the palm of his hand.

Jimmy smirked. "There may be hope for you yet kid."

…

Brice and Reid sat on the left of Jake Sanford. He clearly looked like he wanted to be drinking something stronger than coffee.

"Hey Jake it's been a while," Brice said conversationally. Jake eyed him suspiciously and didn't say anything. "I'm Chris Brice. I work with a few people in the Baker Street complex. I was wondering if you encountered any of them on your Friday evening run? I am really worried about them ending up in the wrong parts of the neighborhood as the result of these screwy changes."

Jake didn't answer at first. He focused his attention at Reid. "Is he a cop?"

Brice laughed to Reid's chagrin. "Does he look like a cop Jake? Jimmy just force-fed him a meal. He's just my tag-along for the day."

"So he won't rat me out?"

"Not if he wants a job."

Jake stared at his meal. "I bent the rules at the 8:30 ride. This guy in his early thirties with thick glasses and one of those flash card rings and cloth grocery bags appeared on the stop before Octavian. He tearfully begged me to let him off at Montego Street," he said guiltily. "Look I got a seventeen-year old cousin with that sort of problem and the parents still doesn't know what to do with him. I feel for them."

"I understand," Brice said soothingly. He then tilted his head thoughtfully. "That sounds somewhat familiar. I think a coworker of mine might work with him. Can you get a little more specific? Do you remember anything such as his race or his hair?"

"All I remember is how the guy looked a little tan and his black hair was a long tangled mess," he said.

Something he said piqued Reid's attention. "Mr. Sanford, where did the man sit after you let him on?"

Jake stared at him. "What does that have anything?"

Brice couldn't believe he had an answer ready.

"Well where someone like you described usually prefers to sit up front where he feels more alert to when the bus will stop and it has a calming effect. Others prefer to sit in the back where there they feel safe from notice. I'm doing research on the subject and I'd like to hear your observations."

Jake began to mull it over. "I think he sat in the back. Now that you mention it, I remember checking the mirrors to make sure he got a seat before I started up again."

Brice quickly glanced at Reid. They were testing guy's patience at this point. He gave him a quick nod and they both stood up.

"Thank you for your time Jake. I'll definitely pass the information along to my coworker with a word of thanks on your behalf. It's good to know there are still caring, hard-working people like you out there."

Jake grunted. "I don't see how it helps, but I'm trusting you to cause any trouble for me."

"Thank you Mr. Sanford," Reid said and patted him ever so slightly on the shoulder as they walked away. Brice didn't doubt the fact his wallet was missing a couple tens.

…

Once they left the restaurant and began to walk to his car Brice asked: "Okay Detective Houdini what did you learn?"

Reid looked quite pleased with himself. "That the man Jake Sanford described was wearing a disguise. The stop before the school is a mostly residential area so the man wouldn't have been going home from work. That neighborhood is of the middle class range though the houses are close together. Given the fact the college is experiencing severe parking accommodation problems. I have also noticed many of the faculty walking to the school from that direction. So I think the Un-Sub might be a teacher, especially since he sat in the back so Delia wouldn't notice him as she was trying to pay attention to the stops from the front."

Brice stopped and stared him. These were loose assumptions but something about the conviction in his voice made him believe in him completely.

"Reid do you know who the killer is?"

He shook his head but looked optimistic. "Not yet. I need to think to construct an image in my head and try to see how it might match something based on my photographic memory."

What he said reminded him of those computer programs where a face appears on the screen and you scroll through the options to find the right hair, nose, eye etc… Except Reid was doing all of this in his head.

"We need to go the school now," Reid said firmly.

He stared at him aghast. "Last time I checked the school was on lock-down."

"But I know how to talk my way in," he said in the same knowing voice.

"But I'm not sure it's worth the risk to meet the FBI yet since your thoughts while incredible still sound like conjecture."

Reid shook his head. "I don't want to speak with them. I want to talk to the students first." He suddenly pulled Brice's wallet out his sleeve. "When I get bored during my breaks, I like to practice some of these tricks. While most know by now not to bother me, I can't stop them from watching out the windows. In my rush to leave the tutoring session I forgot to tell the agents to keep an eye on their IDs at all times."

Brice didn't think he had ever seen Spencer Reid look so happy. It crept him out a little but he couldn't help but feel delighted also.

Reid still had more. "I also believe the Un-Sub is somewhere on campus. He is most likely planning his final murder today with everyone watching."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note:

It is funny how a minor annoyance can inspire me to write. My mind is about as messy as my room right, now which needs to be cleaned and reorganized (what I'd give to have Reid or Morgan's interior profiling skills) before I begin the next chapter of my life. Oddly I believe this might be one of the most interesting chapters to come out of this messy mind.

Thanks for all the encouraging and constructive reviews that have given me some perspective and it will be reflected in this chapter.

As usual: Criminal and computer terminology is escaping me as well as law enforcement terminology. There is probably going to be a little more suspension of disbelief. Reviewers are welcome to clarify a few things. The plot is my priority right now.

Chapter 11:

"Would it have killed you to release the detail about the hair?" A kid with long dark brown hair asked motioning to pictures of the first two victims on two monitors. "We might have been able to help you out more."

Rossi was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kid you're the one who is going to need some serious help, legal help. You do know that using an agent's database password is considered impersonation?"

Morgan and Rossi found most of the kids hidden in the basement where the main servers were stored when they arrived. They were surrounded by the most powerful computers in the library that organized access to the majority of the research of databases. The students pointed out that the technology building with the best computers but had a better security system making it harder to access so they had to settle for the library. This only infuriated Morgan even more.

"Is there a particular reason as to why you chose to use my credentials?" Morgan as he tried to control his temper.

All of the kids looked nervously at one another. But Morgan wouldn't let up. "Stop wasting my time kids and answer me!"

A girl with curly blond hair trembled as she spoke. "Well more information about your past is in public domain and easier to sift through compared to Rossi."

A boy with red hair spoke before Morgan snapped. "Look we think we know who the Un-Sub is based on what we found out."

"And who do you think it is based on your cursory knowledge of the case?" Rossi asked.

"Professor Kendal Dressler," Max said.

"Why?" Morgan demanded.

"Because the guy is a complete psycho," Liam said.

"Do none of you remember Mr. Reid explaining the definition of a psychopath?" Rossi said irritably.

"Call him a narcissist, sociopath, whatever you want, but the guy was a creep," one of guys said defensively. "He taught criminal psychology before he was kicked for out for using students as part of a research project without their consent."

Morgan hated how much of what these kids were describing fit the profile. "What was the subject of his research?"

Another kid shook his head in disgust. "The guy would use these crazy pieces of prosthetic make-up to change his appearance and tested how students reacted. It mostly involved sneaking up on girls at odd hours. He recorded all the information with some sort of camera rigged somewhere in his gear."

Rossi could tell the kids were onto something. "How do you know all this anyway? Through the internet?"

The kids exchanged nervous glances. One of the girls spoke up. "Ruth was doing her work study in the department offices. One of Tina's old boyfriends worked on the school paper and spread the word anonymously on the underground school blog. And a few extremely pissed off students 'involved' in his research and the stacks scandal dug up the rest to round out the story out of spite against the school."

Morgan and Rossi exchanged looks of frustration. They were both wondering why both the students and the administration refused to discuss so many of the school's dirty little secrets. Garcia had tracked the locations of most of the teachers who had left the school and could find no viable leads.

"Have any of heard rumors about where Dressler might be now?" Rossi asked.

A guy called Scott let out a snicker. "It's another in-campus joke. One kid started a Facebook page and the last post listed him as drinking tiger blood at the Bellagio."

Morgan glanced at Rossi and he was already dialing Garcia's number as he walked to the exit. Morgan noticed hints of satisfaction on the student's faces.

"You know you could have saved us a lot of trouble, maybe even Ruth's life, if you had told us all this last night," he said bluntly. "How could you think this information was irrelevant?"

The student's exchanged glances again. "The deaths, were off-campus," girl with black wavy hair who looked like she was about to cry said. "We were afraid if we told you and looked him up in your computers he might snap and kill on campus. We just hacked your account in hopes of finding out that our suspicions were wrong."

Morgan finally began to feel pity for these students. They were some of the brightest students at the school believed they could protect them using their understanding of the criminal's mind. He couldn't help but think Spencer Reid might have unknowingly buoyed these beliefs.

"Morgan," Rossi said in a tone that only suggested bad news. He quickly followed Rossi into the hall.

"Morgan the signal is jammed. I tried to radio the team and lines are scrambled," he walked down the hall to where a basement window was located. Morgan looked out and noticed officers trying to open the doors to the student union. The realization slowly sank in. "He cut the power to the entire campus while it is on lock-down. Campus PD fell right into the trap!"

"But Morgan look around," Rossi said pointing to the ceiling lights. "The library is still on the power grid."

"And so are the computers," Morgan said slowly and looked to where the computer lab was. "The Un-Sub is in that room," he said.

"Not likely," a familiar voice said from behind them. Morgan and Rossi turned around to see Spencer Reid standing in front of them, looking more composed and possibly upbeat.

"If you look at their hands you'll notice that none of them have cuts or discolorations that are unavoidable when applying that level of make-up even with gloves," he said.

Rossi looked annoyed by the appearance of another intrusion. "How did you get past the check point?"

"I told a patrolman I had urgent information on who might be the murderer and asked to speak with you directly. The power went out in the school about five minutes ago and the officer escorting me looked distressed by the site of the terrified students leaning out the windows. I told him not to worry about me. I then went into one of the buildings being renovated and used the tunnel to get here," he said almost as if he was giving a lecture.

"Are there any other secrets about this crazy school we should know about?" Rossi said, exasperated.

Reid remained calm. "Kendal Dressler is still a professor here. I believe he is teaching computer information science under the name Yin Jun in the technology building. I over-heard him giving a special lecture here on the importance of a secure information data base. I didn't think anything of it until I did a little digging on my own."

"Do I even want to know-"

Reid cut Morgan off quickly. "He is going to send his message through these computers," he said and rushed down the hall. "By my calculations he should have all the video footage rerouted into this particular server within the next two minutes. He is directing anger at these particular students and I can't figure out why."

Neither Morgan nor Rossi really had any time or options to consider any and decided to follow him.

It was terrifying to see how right Reid and his group of students were.

A steaming video of Kendal Dressler appeared on both monitors. Dressed in a shirt and tie in the university colors, he resembled a comic super-villain with half of his face covered the prosthetic make-up to show how he had fooled people into thinking he was a different person. He was standing in provost's office next to the man whose mouth was duct-taped shut, chained to his chair with part of his head shaved so badly there were streaks of blood running down his forehead. What was more disturbing was the fact that a set of dynamite was on his chest and Dressler was holding the trigger in one hand, and a microphone in the other.

"Greeting Dead Profiler's Club members," he said gleefully. "It is a truly tragically ironic name for the club given my intent to kill all of you."

Several of the students screamed and it seemed as though Dressler had anticipated this. He let the words sink and then continued. "But not in the way you think. For you see there are many ways to kill a person that are much worse than death, because death is the end of suffering. Some of you will die slowly on the inside before losing hope and find the courage to let go of everything, permanently."

As Dressler stopped for another dramatic pause Morgan began to count of the characteristics of the level of his psychosis. The man had an over-inflated sense of ego but he was able to sustain enough mental control to carry out his plan.

"So here are my terms: I would like for 'SSA' Spencer Reid to come this office unescorted and unarmed to face his punishment for thinking his delusions of having FBI training made him fit to teach students the art of profiling. He believes teaching the importance of compassion will make them better law enforcement agents, when in reality he is setting them up to discover on their own the crushing realization that the monsters don't go away. They just hide within depths of their minds, and then slowly creep into their consciousness until they become the monster in ways beyond their wildest nightmares."

Morgan watched Reid closely. He was gulping several breaths of air rapidly. His eyes were beginning to water. Morgan almost instinctively wanted to grab the young man by his shoulders and he didn't fully understand why.

"The surveillance cameras still function in the east stairway which is where I want him to enter. When he leaves the library, the footage will be relayed through the rest of the campus computers so I will not hesitate to set this bomb off early if I see any SWAT teams enter the school. And you don't know what else I might have put on this campus."

Tears were dripping down Reid's face as Dressler's final words echoed through the silent room. "You have no other options Doctor Reid. This may sound like the plan of a movie villain who is destined to fail, but you can't be sure the people think of as your friends will save you. Aren't you also the least bit curious to find out why I seem to know more about you than anyone else, even yourself?"


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note:

Personal: I am already driving myself crazy before school has even started! The only upside is the more I feel like my responsibilities drive me into a vice-grip, the more I want to rebel and write.

The Mechanics: I will try to edit more efficiently after several hours of sleep. My apologies to those familiar with criminology and computer networks. Suspension of disbelief will be required once again.

The story: I feel it is important to mention this is NOT an M story. I am really not crazy about this plot development, but I feel it is necessary to develop a stronger connection between two characters in the next chapters. I kind of ended chapter a little strange as this one was too short after first break so I'm kind of merging part of a chapter and to give the villain some more dialogue which will probably result "scaring" a few of you. If you are new to the story, I highly recommend subscribing as my ability to update is limited by my ability to maintain the mental stamina to flesh out my ideas out to put on the page. And I have tendency to leaving jaw-dropping cliffhangers.

Chapter 12:

Morgan watched as Reid took a step back and leaned against the wall rubbing his eyes.

"Dressler has put eight minutes on the clock!" a student suddenly shouted.

Morgan turned his attention to the monitor. The provost was the only person visible on the monitor with a clock counting down in the bottom right corner. Rossi was also watching the monitor.

"Dressler must be watching something else," Rossi observed. "There must be another computer where he is monitoring the other surveillance footage of the campus."

"Great," Reid said suddenly, "we have privacy to develop a profile."

"What?" Morgan said incredulously. "You don't honestly think you can go in there and try to talk the guy down? He is beyond reason and bent on destroying you."

"I am just a surrogate," Reid replied. "I represent someone who has harmed him in his past."

Rossi was kept his eyes on the screen. "We also need to find a way to get everyone off the campus in case this maniac has a bomb planted somewhere else in the school." He looked to the students. "I may not know as much about this computer stuff, but if we're still receiving this feed doesn't that mean we're still attached to a server? It could be our way to seek out help."

One of the students was franticly typing at the computer that still had the FBI database online. "We might have bigger problems guys. Someone is trying to hack the connection and send a virus."

Morgan walked over and smiled. "That might not be a bad thing. Our technical analyst might have figured out it wasn't me who was using the FBI database."

"So what do I do?" he asked pleadingly.

He thought for a moment. "Can you open a chat window on that thing?"

"I can try."

"Then try and send the message: "It's all good Baby-girl. I'm here and I need your help."

The student typed in the message and within seconds a link to a video feed appeared. He opened the link and Penelope Garcia, in all her bright-colored glory appeared.

"Morgan what's going on?" she demanded. "Why can't I get a hold of any of you? How did a bunch of low-level hackers gain access to your account?"

He ignored the looks of mild surprise on the student's faces. "One thing at a time Baby-girl. First, can you access the other server connected to this one without tripping any alerts?"

Garcia tapped a few buttons. "There are two actually, one that appears to be connected to some sort of surveillance system and the other is highly encrypted." Garcia appeared to be looking at the screen with surveillance system. "Morgan what is going on? It looks like people are trapped in buildings. They're pulling fire alarms and nothing is happening!"

Rossi took control as Morgan tried to get figure out the two dangerous situations at hand. "Garcia, some of the power is going to be restored to the campus in about three minutes. Can you loop the footage to make it look like everyone is remaining in the same position once the Un-Sub decrypts the second server?"

Garcia thought for a second. "I think so, but I am going to need him to not be watching the monitor for a few seconds to hack into the actual surveillance network."

"You got that from a movie didn't you one?" of the students whispered with a smirk on her face. Rossi aimed a nasty look at her.

"Garcia can you look up Kendall Dressler?" Reid said approaching the monitor.

She eyed him curiously. "Is he that Reid guy?"

Morgan groaned. "We don't have time to profile him Mr. Reid. We can use the looping feature distract him as we get students out of the building and then take another entrance and get you out of there before you get to the guy's office."

"Morgan this man may be emotionally unstable, but right now he is in complete control of his intelligence," Reid snapped. "Focus your attention on evacuating students and I can buy you more time if I knew more about him."

This was the second time the level of familiarity in Reid's voice unnerved him. But he had a reasonable point. "Get him what he needs Garcia."

Garcia nodded uncertainly. Reid started asking questions. "Garcia was Kendal Dressler ever married? Did he have any kids?"

It felt almost nice seeing Garcia do what she was good at. "Married from 05 to 07 to Nadine Pierce. No kids. She was a high-end plastic surgeon who specialized in doing those crazy makeovers. The reason for divorce is listed as irreconcilable differences."

Reid paced around. "That's not enough. It only shows obsession with appearance manipulation."

Rossi pitched in. "How long was he employed at Octavian University and what did he do before that? How many student complaints were filed against him before he was axed?"

"He developed facial recognition software from 05 through spring of 2010 when the company collapsed. There weren't any complaints filed against him until December of 2011 where a student said she felt he was stalking her after her last exam with him. Then there was series of complaints filed once class started in January that led his dismissal in April."

Reid groaned. "There's got to be a stress trigger. Was there a recent death in his family?"

Garcia entered the next set of keystrokes and her face turned grim. She tried not to look at Rossi as she spoke. "His mother died on Thanksgiving of 2011 after suffering from ALS for nearly nine years."

Rossi looked away so the students couldn't see his face. Morgan watched to Reid, who appeared understand that some of the numbers were adding up. "Garcia what was his educational background?" Reid asked. "He is only listed as an adjunct here."

She pressed another set of keystrokes. "He graduated with Suma Cum Laud and received a whole other ton of academic awards while attending Georgetown with a degree in criminology. There's clipping here about him describing his desire to work in federal law enforcement after his father detective Reno, was shot during the bust of drug smuggling operation based in Mexico when he was ten."

Reid took a few steps back. Garcia continued on. "It appears that Dressler sunk most of his finances into experimental treatment for his mother."

"ALS has a tendency to distort the appearance as the disease progresses," Rossi said quietly. "Some of this is starting to make sense," he then turned to Reid. "Given the timeline related to when you were planning to enter the FBI it appears that you are the trigger. But why?"

"You have no idea," Reid said distractedly as he looked at the monitor. "I have less than two minute get over there," he said and then ran out of the room.

Morgan desperately wanted to know what the guy knew and decided to follow him. He glanced at Rossi. "Stay here and keep contact with Garcia. I'll call you when I get a signal on what our next move is."

…

"Reid talk to me!" Morgan shouted as he chased after him. The guy was surprisingly fast. "Why is he after you?"

His spoke in a loud moan. "My mom has been in a mental hospital for about as long. I put her in there because I couldn't take care of her!" His voice cracked. "I put her there when I was eighteen so I could pursue my education without worrying about her wandering in the streets if she didn't take her meds."

Morgan felt a wash of emotion come over him. This guy had gone through so much and was being targeted for trying to help students get the kind of job he wanted.

Reid skidded to a stop in front of the entrance Dressler was expecting him to use. Morgan grabbed him by the shoulders before he could push the door open.

He turned him around. "I can't let you do this kid," he said breathlessly. "You don't deserve this. You're so much better than-"

"Morgan three girls are dead because of my presence here," he said tearfully. "If my death prevents him from killing more people at this school, then it is a price I'm willing to pay."

He kneed Morgan in the groin, forcing him to release his grip and he pushed open the door.

…

Reid entered the provost's office panting. There was stabbing pain in his side. He couldn't help but lean over and try to catch his breath. Dressler took the opportunity to knock him to the ground.

"You're late Dr. Reid," he snarled. "I don't tolerate tardiness."

"I'm sorry," Reid said weakly and crawled ever so slightly across the floor to adjust Dressler's gaze. "How do you wish to be addressed? You're the better man, how can I demonstrate my respect for you?"

A smile flitted across his face. "You can't play games with me Dr. Reid. Showing subservience to make the Un-Sub feel in control won't work on me. Pick a name for me so I can decide what tactics to use."

Reid instinctively moved further away. He was getting tired of being ordered around like this but he felt once again like he had no choice.

"On your feet!" Dressler suddenly shouted and pulled out a gun. Reid shakily obeyed. He slowly began to caress his hair with the gun. "You know I'm not that bad a person. You may have profiled my desire to kill and assault those women as result of impotence. I will not give you the satisfaction of learning if that theory is true. But I can tell that watching the look of horror on those girl's faces as their hair was maimed while slowly bleeding out was a fascinating experience."

Reid lunged at Dressler "You bas-"

His gun went off but the bullet hit the wall. Reid flinched as Dressler pulled him up straight. "I know you have a death wish Dr. Reid and I may even it. But first we have a show to put on if you want to save the life of the other true criminal at this school."

He marched Reid to the left side of the Provost. "As I was saying women have a strong affinity for their hair, but I find it is less so with men, even with one who has your locks," he said caressing his hair again with his gun. "But I also find that this kind of long hair demonstrates a need to compensate for other weaknesses of the male physique."

He aimed his gun at Reid temple. "Strip down to your undershorts now!" he ordered and then his voice softened. "Don't worry Dr. Reid I have no interest in hurting you in the way you might be thinking. I just want for all the school and world even to see how vulnerable you truly are: A failure of a man before you even got that fancy letter of acceptance from FBI Training Academy."


	13. Chapter 13

I have missed you all! School is in full swing for me so I'll be updating in between the madness and it is still hard to judge. So I may leave a review of update guilt on my own story when it is tugging at me.

Thank you for the reviews. I am not the most organized writer as I don't write drafts. Basically, I am making it up along as I go. So they really do help.

I admit I changed a minor detail in Chapter 12 to fit a timeline. I really hope my new plot perspective works. Having completed it, I have to admit this is one crazy chapter and I have really missed writing. Not an M story!

Chapter 13:

As he stood shivering, Reid tried very hard not to think about the last time he was this exposed (except worse) when he was living in Las Vegas. Oddly the more reassuring memory of being almost as bare is from when he was dying. It was almost amusing the way the threat of seeing him naked was the most compelling argument he could make for Morgan to leave him to track down the doctor behind the anthrax attack. Reid breathed slowly and tried to remember the sensation of being devoid of proper clothing while remaining focused.

Dressler instructed Reid to stand directly next to the provost and not to say a word. As Dressler checked each of the monitors (It appears the team's technique of looping old footage was working) and tested the relays on his feeds, Reid reviewed what few facts he knew. Something was nagging it him. Maybe it was the desperate desire to believe he hadn't instigated the murders. Then the image of Delia Odessa's face appeared.

Her fresh face had always looked slightly more aged due to living constantly under stress. A foster kid from Reno with whose only saving grace was the fact she still had a place to call home despite aging out. Reid suddenly remembered her wearing a very faded T-shirt from one of the Reno public high schools. The high school was in the area where the Mexican drug bust took place where Dressler's father Joshua was killed, if Reid recalled his history of drug smuggling in the Nevada area correctly. The facts of the case dripped into his mind.

Joshua Dressler died in a shoot-out in the large bedroom of family home. The official statement given to the press was that he died heroically, but the details in the report stated he died protecting minors whose names couldn't be released. Reid could envision a younger version of Delia, her face wet with tears and eyes wide with terror. Some children whose parents died in the line of duty are obsessed with finding out why and who they saved. In most cases it was harmless and lead to heartwarming stories. But in some twisted way Kendal Dressler might have watched Delia and thought she grown up to become someone worthy of being saved by a man who still had so much to offer to his profession. Delia was training to work in a ballistics crime lab. She was fearless in her own way, so that is why he used a knife.

Still skillfully holding the trigger switch, Dressler began to adjust the web camera and mounted the microphone so he wouldn't have to hold it to address "his audience."

Tina Billson was in a sorority whose community service platform was minor pro-bono legal counseling. She was a victim of convenience as there was no criminology-based Greek organization with off-campus housing. She was collateral damage, as was the last victim Ruth Gerski. The first two murders had no direct connection to Reid's tutoring group so they were just his "test audience."

"We're rolling Dr. Reid!" Dressler said gleefully. He then stared into the camera. "Greetings, Octavians! Look who has joined us!" He turned and walked over and gripped Reid's bare shoulders. He shivered slightly. "Ooh it appears our good doctor is cold. Why don't you cuddle up in the lap of our beloved provost to keep warm?"

Reid awkwardly scrunched up into the man's lap as if he was on autopilot. He began to think of the provost's history. He was the lead enquirer in all of the major incidents on campus and was largely responsible for the damage control process. This lead to his promotion to provost and he was able to loosen the restrictions on who could work on campus. He essentially destroyed Dressler's reputation as an expert in his field and was forced into using his chameleon-like design skills to stay on campus. The sight of Reid tutoring students on campus was akin to rubbing salt in the wound.

"Feeling warmer Dr. Reid?" Dressler asked, his eyes sparkling.

Reid finally decided to speak up. "Kendall, I understand why you're doing this."

Dressler hit Reid's face with his gun. "You don't know anything about me Dr. Reid! Your profiling skills aren't going to save you!"

Reid couldn't help but hug the man to keep his balance. His tone remained firm. "Kendall, Delia Odessa was your main target. You hated the school but you couldn't act on your second goal until you could build up the courage kill the person you didn't think deserved to live instead of your father."

"Shut up!" he said and smacked him even harder with his gun. He then quickly recovered and aimed his gun at him. "Okay Dr. Reid let's get down to business. At the count of three I am going to hit the switch and provost will be blown up. Here are your options: You can either die in the arms of a man responsible squashing all of the college's dirty secrets and running some of the greatest minds of academia into the ground. Or at the count of three, you can roll away the blast zone to allow the man to suffer the agony of being blown to bits alone. I will then kill you the old fashioned way with a bullet to the head off-screen, thus saving your students from the trauma of seeing your body also splattered on the walls. Death by cowardice or death by some ridiculous notion bravery are your choices Dr. Reid."

Reid looked at him in shock. For the first time he made a major mistake. He revealed the size of the blast zone of the bomb. It emboldened him.

"Your mother's illness destroyed your chance of having a career in law-enforcement that you believed would make your father proud," he said boldly.

"Stop it!" Dressler said angrily through gritted teeth.

"You became angry when your efforts to save your mother were failing as it made you feel as if you were losing your identity. Which lead to your obsession with appearances."

Dressler began to shake. "One…-"

"You're not as in control as you think you are. Killing Delia wasn't enough." Reid said rapidly.

Dressler began to shake even more violently. "Two…-"

"You became distracted by your goal to kill this man because your impulsive love of blood-letting was more important than proving to be a man worthy of apprehension by your father."

"You fri-"Dressler said and lunged at Reid while trying to hold his gun steady in one had. He wouldn't be able to finish the sentence as Reid ducked and crashed his head into the man's stomach.

The bullet hit the ceiling as Reid tackled Dressler to the ground. Reid would be the first to admit he wasn't good in hand-to-hand combat, but the funny thing was how it was J.J. who recently taught him how to fight more efficiently. He banged Dressler's elbow hard against floor, forcing him to release the switch and swatted it away. He was beyond grateful that cord was long enough to fall to the ground without snapping and causing the bomb to go off immediately.

They wrestled around the floor further, bumping into the desks with the computers. Reid noticed how Dressler was beginning to smile. "You know I have more bombs on campus that have timers on them," he said as they struggled.

"You don't," Reid replied as he turned the man over. "The provost was your only other target. Your goal to kill Delia was sidetracked when the he had you fired. Wiring a campus to see one man die at your hands was part of your original plan. You wouldn't leave an explosive that could be found and ruin your hard work."

Dressler suddenly began to snicker. "You're right actually. Except for one little thing about me," he suddenly ripped open a piece of his shirt. There was a small explosive attached to his chest.

Reid loosened his grip instantly and began to pull out of the fight. To his surprise Dressler helped by pushing him further away.

"I was never planning on getting out of this alive," he said breathlessly while still maintaining a sense of peace. "Congratulations Dr. Reid, you truly are a brilliant profiler. The sad thing is you won't ever know about how you got to this point."

"Good-bye Dr. Reid," he said as he flicked the tiny switch on the device.

Reid used his feet push himself away on his back so he couldn't see the man explode. But not far enough as his bare legs and chest was covered with lightly-sprayed human remains.

He heard the door crash open. Morgan appeared with a SWAT team behind him. They scanned the room.

"The bomb is wired to only kill the person it is attached to," Reid said in his strongest voice possible as he moved backwards to brace himself against a wall. "Dressler said there are no other bombs in the school before he-"he stuttered, "Committed suicide."

He closed his eyes when he felt Morgan looking at him. The other reason he told Morgan walk away after he was exposed to Anthrax was because he didn't want to Morgan to see him look so visibly vulnerable. He played a major role in "saving the day" back then and played a larger part in saving countless lives today (though he would always question how much he contributed to motivating Dressler to act). The thing was, only one of them knew about both of the cases he helped close.


	14. Chapter 14

Lengthy Author's Note because this is some very important within.

MAJOR NOTE: This is one of the chapters that have been spinning in my head for months. There is a very important Author's Note at the end. It may not be "clean" when you open it in the morning, but the chapter packs punch.

It is funny, when was I finished chapters at 4:00 AM regularly my grammar and writing was much better

I get this question every few chapters and this is my newest idea for trying to explain the concept: Who here has seen It's a Wonderful Life? Or even a show with the same plot devices? George Bailey tells Clarence he wishes he was never born. When Clarence grants him his wish, George proceeds to run around his town seeing all the changes and terrorizes his wife who is a spinster librarian and doesn't know him _because he doesn't exist in this version of reality_. I also recall something about him no longer having a scar from his childhood, but he still knows how he got it the way Reid remembers how J.J. taught him how to fight.

The main difference between Spencer Reid and George Bailey is the fact Reid didn't run around shouting at the top of his lungs when things changed because he knew he'd end up in a psych ward. Reid also doesn't know who or what might be responsible for this reality because he didn't actively choose to wipe his presence out of the BAU. Then the other difference is the setting, the characters, and the warm and fuzzy feeling you get when you watch the ending. I really like the movie and its history, but that is not where most of my inspiration came from.

But you never know. Is Brice Clarence? Is Dick Cheney Old Man Potter? Okay I am just messing with you right now because I know who the lead villain is and he doesn't look like Dick Cheney.

Chapter 14:

Morgan looked at the man, half-naked and covered in blood. But it was not nearly as horrible as what he was expecting when he heard the bomb go off.

He walked over and got on Spencer Reid's level. "Are you okay?" He asked, not knowing what else to say.

The man shifted away from him like he was afraid of his touch. "Nothing is broken. No serious contusions that require examination for brain damage." He spoke in a monotone. He was trying to sound like a medical doctor instead of a witness to a traumatic event.

Morgan wasn't convinced. "There's a chance you might go into shock. You should still be checked by an EMT for-"

"Agent Morgan the more time I am here in this-"he stuttered briefly as he looked at his chest "condition the more likely the memory will embed itself in my mind and going through further examination will make it worse."

He began push himself up against the wall to try to stand and then stopped. His eyes became moist. "I know it would be breaking evidentiary procedures, but given the Un-Sub has been neutralized," he looked directly at Morgan. "Can I please have my clothes?" he asked weakly.

The look on Reid's face reminded him of the cases where his team found abducted kids. The desperate looks on their faces continue to haunt him.

He looked around and saw that Rossi was watching them from the other side of the room, who gave him an assuring nod.

"Of course Mr. Reid. Are sure you don't want to go down stairs to get some clean scrubs?"

Reid had gotten to his feet completely by now. "I'd prefer the feel of my own clothes."

He weaved around where the bomb squad was unchaining the provost from the bomb and Morgan followed. Reid carefully picked up his clothes and rolled them so they didn't touch his slowly drying chest.

Rossi was standing only a few steps away from them. "The bathroom down the hall has been cleared for access. It has soap and towels that I don't think anyone would mind if you used them."

Morgan stared at him. Rossi rarely offered this kind of assistance as he claimed to lack any sort of "bedside manner."

"Thank you," he said in loud whisper and shakily walked down the hall.

Rossi looked at Morgan face and rolled his eyes. "The kid solved the case and prevented the Un-Sub from killing more people. I'm not heartless."

Morgan sighed and surveyed the mess in the room. "We still have a lot of work ahead of us."

He began to list them: "Figuring out how he tapped into the power grid and managed to lock down the campus. Re-interviewing the rest of the administration to find out what else they were hiding from us. Asking around to find out if anyone else knew about Dressler being on campus and if there might be accomplices and potential copy-cats" he said with a with a sigh.

Rossi nodded. "Well at least Dressler decided to start his reign of terror early." He checked his watch. "It's ten-thirty. The media hounds won't start to raise their volume for at least another twenty minutes. It gives us time to prepare a statement before they have to start preparing their stories for the lunch-hour news."

Then Reid appeared. He didn't look at all like himself. The shoe laces on his brown loafers were knotted instead of tied. He wasn't wearing his watch. He hadn't buttoned his green dress shirt over his white t-shirt. The man's ability to perform fine motor skills had been weakened by what he had experienced.

There was the sudden beeping of a phone. Reid fumbled through his pocket and flipped through it open. Judging by the look on his face, the message wasn't good.

"What is it Mr. Reid?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing," he said. "The person I thought could pick me up when the campus was cleared has been called in to help a co-worker handle a major crisis."

"Nothing appears to be going right in this town today," Rossi remarked. "I wouldn't want to gamble here."

"Actually betting money during a major crisis gives-" Reid said and suddenly stumbled. He leaned against a wall for support.

Morgan approached Reid again. "You really should get checked out by someone. Just let them check your vital signs-"

"Morgan I haven't slept in at least eighteen hours," he said angrily as he regained his balance. "I just need to go somewhere I feel safe to get some REM sleep."

Morgan then noticed that his eyes were rapidly blinking and how his shoulders were still tense. He had been doing admirable job of looking brave when he was still falling apart on the inside.

"I want to go home," he said desperately. "When do you think I might be able to call a car company to pick me up?"

For some reason he hated the idea of letting a stranger take control of getting this man to safety. "I'll take you home Mr. Reid," Morgan said.

Reid looked up. "Morgan no. I don't need you so much that you have to leave your management of-"

"I can take care of things for Agent Morgan," Rossi said sternly, not appreciating Reid's failure to use proper names. "I'll convey to our press liaison what transpired here to send out to the press. If anyone asks, Agent Morgan is still busy investigating the events that occurred in the administration building. Which is not a lie because if I were you Mr. Reid, I would take advantage of the car ride to give an account of what happened before the cameras were turned so you won't have to make any further statements."

Morgan couldn't help but wonder why Rossi was doing all of this. From what he saw during the tutoring session, Rossi had only looked mildly impressed.

"Agent Rossi makes a compelling argument Mr. Reid," Morgan said. "Transporting you home provides a private place where you can discuss what happened. I can also get there faster and avoid the fanfare you might experience given your new level of notoriety."

Morgan noticed the slight flicker of happiness in Reid's eyes before he answered. "Arguing will only waste more of your time I guess," he said. "I live…"

…

Reid was weaving in and out of focus as Morgan drove. Morgan was relieved to hear that he had not been sexual assaulted and he believed him. Morgan couldn't help but admonish Reid for taking such a huge risk by believing that Dressler would want to make his death more personal by shooting him after giving his profile. He could hear a sense of pride in his voice as he described how he had measured the trajectory of the blast, and calculated muscle reflex probabilities.

By the time they got to his apartment Reid was lightly snoring. Morgan opening his door jolted him awake. He quickly moved around to the other side of the car as Reid fumbled with his seatbelt. Morgan managed to catch him before he fell to the ground when he opened the door.

Reid flinched again. "Agent Morgan I can take care of myself," he said stubbornly.

"Not from where I'm standing," Morgan said. "And I'm not going to let go to your apartment alone. I don't want some neighbor to see you fall to the ground and post it on YouTube."

Reid sighed again as they entered the building through the back entrance.

…

Morgan was glad he stayed with him. Reid gripped the railing in the elevator to stay on his feet. He fumbled with the key to his apartment so badly it was a small wonder he that unlocked the door on the second try.

Reid took several wobbly steps forward and managed to get the upper half of his body to land on the sagging couch. A strange sort of motherly instinct he was raised with kicked in. He found himself tucking the rest of the man into the couch. He looked around for some sort of blanket cover him with when he noticed the wall covered with information about the murders and chose to ignore it. The case was closed; there was nothing left for him to do.

Morgan found a blanket under the coffee table and carefully arranged it on the man, all the while questioning why he was doing so.

"Morgan," Reid called out as he was walking towards door. Morgan looked to see that his eyes were closed, clearly not awake. Then he said:

"I really miss you."

Reid then rolled to his other side.

Morgan couldn't stand to watch anymore and ran to the door, just barely remembering to lock to lock the door. He wanted to put as much distance between him and this man who seemed to know him on a personal level as quickly as possible.

…

The rest of the day was exhausting for the entire team. They rarely did this level of investigation after a case was closed. But it wasn't really closed for the school as there were so many stories of indiscretion on all levels with equally unethical cover-ups. They needed to be revealed to make the school safe and develop any sort of hope for rebuilding its reputation. But none of this put nearly as much pressure on his mind than what Spencer Reid said.

At some point during the day J.J. slipped some forms into his hands and managed to get his signature. He barely remembered what was said in the conversation, but around seven p.m. J.J. was passing out hotel keys to a three-star hotel near where the jet was located. It was a truly brilliant move.

Elle tried to rub his bare shoulders when they got into bed. She clearly craved his touch, but he found himself resisting.

"Morgan let me in," she said into his ear. Her soft hair tickled the back of his neck. "I know there is more bothering you than just the case. Tell me. Let me share your pain. Let me take care of you."

He turned around and looked at his beautiful wife. He wouldn't trade her for anything in the world. But what if-

He pulled Elle into his arms. "I can't think about it anymore tonight honey." Her soft but firm flesh felt perfect in his arms. "All I want right now is you right here."

Elle hugged his arms and pulled him closer. "That is all I have ever wanted Derek. Don't ever let me go."

"I promise," he whispered. He fell asleep breathing in the faint scent of the shampoo in her hair.

…

_It was late at night. The woods looked oddly familiar to Morgan. Then he remembered exactly where he was. He was in North Carolina investigating a series of stabbing murders in middle-class neighborhoods that were posted online. They discovered the Un-Sub-_

"_Keep digging boy!" Tobias Hankel's voice echoed through the trees. He then noticed the faint sound of a shovel scraping dirt._

_Morgan raised his weapon that he didn't notice he was holding._

"_Please I can't go on," a voice whimpered._

_The voice sent more shivers down his spine than Hankel's. It was Spencer Reid's voice. Morgan quickened his pace._

"_You're pathetic. You're weak." Morgan heard the clang of the shovel and a cry of pain._

_He didn't care who heard him now. He broke into a full run at sound of more grunts of pain. Then there was another clang of the shovel._

_Hankel was laughing. "There's only one bullet in that boy-" _

_The sound of the gunshot reverberated through the air._

_Morgan finally entered the entered the clearing to find Reid kneeling on the ground next to a freshly-dug grave sobbing. His hair was longer and he looked younger._

"_I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" he wailed._

_Morgan didn't hesitate to reach for the man. "Its' okay buddy," he said gently as he tried to pull him into his arms. _

_Reid backed out harshly and cried even harder. "But it isn't Morgan. It isn't!" He shouted hysterically. _

_Morgan noticed he grave hole that looked much bigger than he first thought._

"_I couldn't save him Morgan! I couldn't have him!"_

_Morgan leaned over and stared into its depths._

_There laying peacefully in one of his impeccable suits, was Aaron Hotchner with his eyes closed and arms crossed._

_Then suddenly Hotch moved his head upwards. He opened his eyes and stared straight at him._

_Morgan screamed at the top of lungs into what felt like eternity. Screaming until-_

He felt the sheets falling off him. His scream filled the hotel room and possibly beyond.

End of Part I

Author's Note:

THIS STORY DOES NOT END HERE! Part II will appear on this same thread. I hate the idea of breaking the story in half and forcing subscribers to hunt for the next part when I get around to posting it. I know this story is extremely long but Part I was the B plot, the setup. I had to get the BAU to Vegas. This is also why I listed Morgan as the secondary character.

Just another reminder that there is no slash or M material in this story.

I have a feeling someone will catch the CM story mistake before I get around to fixing it.

It was truly a joy to write this chapter, I hope you findt it to be as mesmerizing as I do.

And I am so sorry. I have Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah off also. Happy Labor Day!


	15. Chapter 15

Long Author's Note because I do miss this story at times:

Shana Tova! (Early) I am not Jewish but my school cancels classes for its feast days but oddly doesn't cancel for federal holidays such as Veteran's Day. It's also a special weekend for me personally.

Spoilery Anecdote about the chapter: This is another part I have wanted to write since I came up with the story idea. Morgan isn't my favorite character, but the actor who portrays him is rooted in my childhood as I would come home from school on "half-day Fridays" in grade school to watch the last end of one of my mom's favorite shows.

I hope this makes sense. I am a little rusty and I haven't had the time to research the organization of police procedures in Vegas.

Part II:

Chapter 15

"Aren't you sick of reading about it?" Mick said as he paced around the hotel lobby.

J.J. looked up from the article she was newspaper headlined: "Fall of Octavian: The cover-up that enraged Dressler to Kill." There was a photo of Spencer Reid holding on to the provost on the interior page. The image made her cringe but she was grateful there weren't any newspapers featuring it on the front page.

"It's nice to read my statements not out-of-context," J.J. said absent-mindedly as she returned to staring at the photo, wondering why she was finding the picture so enthralling.

Mick kept glancing at his phone. "Morgan isn't usually late like this. We should be boarding the jet right now," he said.

Rossi was standing by window calmly drinking his cup of coffee. "Why might you be in such a rush Mick?" he said in his typical unconcerned tone. "If I recall correctly, Erin Strauss put in a call yesterday to inform us that we were being put on stand-down. Something about getting too much press coverage that 'portrayed the bureau in a poor light.'" Rossi said with sarcasm.

He took another sip of his coffee. "I suppose that implies that we are in trouble. But right now I am I looking forward to going home and enjoying one of my recent wine acquisitions."

"Then why aren't you ready to go up and drag Morgan out of his hotel room also?" Mick asked.

Elle suddenly rushed in with a look of pure disgust on her face. "You aren't the only one," Elle said harshly and slammed her go-bag on to the floor. "My husband can be a real pain in the ass when he gets all worked about some crazy shi-"

"I'm here guys," Morgan said quickly as he entered the lobby. J.J. noticed how worn out he looked. She wondered if he was the one she heard screaming last night.

Morgan motioned for all of them to come closer and ignored the furious look Elle was giving him. "Look we've all had a few rough days and you should to get on the jet right now," he said and then took a deep breath. "But I won't be coming with you. There is something here I want to look into on my own and I don't need your help. While what I'm doing isn't illegal, I'd prefer leave you out if it since Strauss is watching our every move."

Rossi didn't look convinced. "Are you certain you'd prefer to keep us out of something that may affect the chain of command on the team?" he said with mild frustration. "Ignorance is not always as blissful as one would think when facing a congressional hearing."

Morgan was trying very hard to sound evasive. "I swear it is nothing that heavy and I can explain things to Strauss if it comes to that."

Elle backed away harshly. "Morgan still loves his secrets. Even when it involves pushing people away from him."

Morgan tried to approach her. "Elle I'm not trying to hurt you. I promise this won't take long."

"Fine," Elle practically shouted and grabbed her bag. "Just know Derek that I want real answers when you get back. And then maybe your screams will stop ringing in my ears," she said and dashed out of the hotel before he could say anything more.

The rest of the team was staring at him.

"Screams?" J.J. said with concern. "Morgan were you the one I heard screaming from-"

"We all get nightmares," Morgan snapped. "It's kind of impossible to avoid them with this job," he said and then noticed looks of alarm on his team's faces. "Look it's no big deal," he said in a lower tone.

"Go home and enjoy what Strauss's definition of vacation is for us," he said with smile. "I suggest you catch up with Elle before she gets behind the wheel. She can be something of terror when she driving while mad at me," he said.

This elicited a few grins in return from the team. Mick picked up his bag. "I won't argue that point," he said. "Though she does seem to be highly effective in car chases after arguing with you."

Morgan laughed. "You guys better get going" he said and began to wave them off.

"Don't stay here too long Morgan," Mick said and ran out of the lobby.

"I won't," Morgan said looking her and Rossi, "I promise."

J.J. and Rossi exchanged looks as they picked up their bags.

…

A couple eye-brows were raised when Morgan entered the sheriff's office. He approached a reception desk and showed them his credentials. "I'm looking for information on the case regarding the attempted manslaughter of Spencer Reid."

A phone call was placed by elderly receptionist and he was told to enter the nearby conference room. A few minutes later a burly detective appeared with a single large evidence box. "So you're the one interested in the naked guy's attempted murder?"

Morgan didn't like the man's tone. "He saved the life of a distinguished member of the academic community as well as acquiring a compelling statement that there were no other bombs planted on the campus, all while wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. I'm not sure if I could have done that."

The man shrugged. "The guy's a bit of freakish mystery in this town still. Anyway," he placed the box on the table, "this is all we have."

Morgan opened the box and pulled out bags of evidence that appeared to be what Spencer Reid was wearing when he was hit.

"We collected them in case we could find any trace evidence of the make of the car," the detective explained. "Which turned out to be nothing."

Morgan couldn't help but wince when he saw the pictures of the man's bruised face taken while he appeared to be laid out on a hospital bed. "How extensive were the injuries?" Morgan asked.

The man shook his head in dismay. "It is one heck of a miracle that he survived. Our best recreation of the impact suggests that the car slammed into his abdomen causing him to lunge forward on to the vehicle. The right side of his forehead most likely hit the windshield and possibly fractured the glass before he rolled on to the ground." The detective sighed, "We should have put an alert out to look for cars with broken windshields, but we just didn't have the man power."

Morgan realized the case bringing back bad memories him. "I have been in your position before detective," he said kindly "sometimes what we considered 'small cases' fall through the cracks."

The man didn't respond and pulled out some files. "There were some other odd things about this case. If I recall correctly there was a rare down-pour that night, yet someone noticed the guy laying the middle of a street in a badly lit area and dialed 911 from a pay phone."

"It's hard to believe those things existed years ago," Morgan observed. "Is there a large homeless population in the area?"

"The nearest shelter is two blocks away and even the people who live out of cardboard boxes flocked to the place. People just aren't prepared for that kind of heavy rain around here," the detective replied.

Morgan looked at the bag containing the man's wallet. "Could you tell if anything was missing?"

"There was no cash in there but his license was still there as well as a credit and debit card. We checked his records and there no other accounts registered in his name. There were smudge marks on the clear wallet panels so we know someone had pulled it out and replaced it."

"What about a cell phone?"

"Nothing registered to his account," he said and looked at Morgan's mystified expression. "Keep in mind Agent Morgan this was the early two thousands and though he had a surprisingly large bank account but it appears he saved most of it for the care of his mother. I'm guessing the guy was trying to save money by getting it through the FBI."

Morgan was impressed by the detective's observations.

"So what about this 911 call?" Morgan looked through the box for a transcript. "Isn't there a record somewhere?"

"I don't remember the exact details but there is some information on how the system crashed and most of the information, including all the recordings, was lost."

Morgan stared at the man. "You've answered questions about a ten-year-old cold case fairly quickly," he said. "It sounds like did do some further digging after Spencer Reid woke up. Can you tell me if he remembered anything?"

The detective shrugged again. "He didn't remember anything but-"he lowered his voice. "The nurses said he sounded really freaked out when he woke up."

"Isn't that normal?"

"Yeah, but the nurses noticed some odd things. After I promised to keep this stuff out of the report, they told me about how he figured out what Facebook was pretty quickly and I managed to wheedle out of one of them that she let him look at her account. He lost it when he saw the picture of some woman ten year older than him who was married who worked at the FBI."

It occurred to Morgan that he might be talking about his wife. The mysteries surrounding this guy kept piling up. "So why are you telling me this if you didn't want it in your report?"

"Well you're an FBI agent from behavior science department," he responded. "You probably know more about what to do with this stuff than the other guys handling 'simple cases.' And honestly I did not pay as much attention to the case as I should have. But seeing the crazy stuff that happened to this guy yesterday, there is clearly nothing simple about Spencer Reid."

…

Balancing the evidence box under one arm, Morgan awkwardly swiped his hotel key and opened the door.

He heard the TV first and then noticed Rossi and J.J. sitting in chairs in front of the TV with snack food on a table between them. The sight both surprised and annoyed him. "What are you guys doing here?"

Rossi popped a peanut into his mouth before answering. "What does it look like we're doing?"

The sound from the TV grew louder as the two older women on the screen screamed at each other. J.J. was watching the show intently as she pulled out a pair of cheese puffs from a bag.

This frustrated Morgan even more. "Breaking into my hotel room and watching 'Days of Our Lives.'"

"It's 'Young and the Restless,'" Rossi responded.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note:

Okay, so much to do so little time.

The story: I kept asking myself, why I am featuring this character in another chapter? The answer is strange. I think this might throw a few people as the first chapter looked so much like an episode. Make no mistake I am not in love with this character. It is just a demonstration of how we can get so lost in our own lives that it is can be hard to prioritize.

Not story-related but something I feel the urge to share: I really really wanted to add this chapter to start work on this chapter tonight. Because when you see it tomorrow it is a day I will be celebrating and I kind of wanted to give readers a tiny bit of joy that I will be experiencing. It is my birthday. It is the number in one of the first episodes where people got to know this fascinating character. It is my twenty-fourth birthday I look forward to finding how smart (in a slightly different definition) I am when I turn fifty.

Chapter 16:

Christopher Brice felt more like a loser than ever before. As hard as it was to believe his day got more difficult after dropping Spencer Reid off at Octavian. He had to give bad news about job applications, class registration requirements, and living facility requests in a span of three hours before Bethany Clemens called him for help. There was lots of screaming and throwing things and empty threats were made. They were lucky they managed to calm everyone down when the police arrived so no charges were filed.

Then around at three o'clock it hits him like a pile of bricks: Today was his son's sixteenth birthday. He still had three more meetings and he hadn't bought him anything. He wracked his brain trying to think of something he could get for him at the last minute. The most money he could put in a card was a hundred, but compared to his step-father it would be a drop in the bucket. He settled on his father's pocket watch. He wasn't planning on giving it to him until his eighteenth, but it was the only thing he had that meant something to him.

…

Brice knew he had lost when he saw the Jaguar in the driveway with a huge birthday sign on it.

Serena his beautiful former wife greeted him with a look of disgust when he knocked on the door at around six. "I'm surprised you even remembered."

"He's my son too Serena," he said earnestly. "I love him just as much as you and Alex."

"Really?" she said with her arms crossed. "Then what is his favorite dinner that I was about to finish cooking?"

"Chicken quesadillas, he liked to help you fold them."

"That was ten years ago Dad," his son said with a sneer. Pete had grown a ten inches since he last saw him. "I prefer sirloin steak."

"What with no caviar?" Brice said sarcastically before he could stop himself.

Serena blocked his view. "I won't have you speak to our son that way! You think Alex has brain-washed us all into thinking we're better than you."

"Not quite," he said. "But I do question the wisdom behind giving a car that is worth more than what I've made in four years to a teenager."

"Peter is more than capable of handling such a vehicle," an urbane voice said from the top of the stairs. Alexander Redwall the III appeared in a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and beige pants.

He looked at Brice as if he was something the cat dragged in as he reached the bottom. "You'd know if you spent more time with him."

Brice quickly realized that he was about to enter the usual song and dance routine of trying to act like a father when he was visibly out-classed. He was too tired and he knew sticking around would only build Redwall's case.

He walked over to the side table in the hall and placed his poorly-wrapped gift there along with the card in which he had tried his best to describe what Pete meant to him there.

"I won't waste any more of your time," he said quietly and slowly backed out.

Serena's stance seemed to soften. "I think that is for the best Chris."

"Have good birthday son," he said walked to the door. Pete muttered a reply he couldn't hear.

Just as he opened the door, he remembered something. "Hey, where is Callie?" he called out.

"Over-night study cram session at a friend's house," Serena replied.

He wondered whether realized on a fake that story sounded. But he let it slide. He had trusted them to raise his kids for this long. He hoped they knew what they were doing better than him.

"Send her my love too," he shouted. There was no response as he shut the door.

As he walked to his car he noticed how he clear the sky was from up here. He looked up at the different stars and tried to remember their names. Spencer Reid would know.

Then the second pile of bricks hit him. He never turned on the radio when he was working as he preferred his classical music CDs to escape the world temporarily.

He finally got home he and went online, he shouted out: "Good God!" and threw his face into his hands.

…

Brice paced around his apartment until six in the morning. He had been so stupid to not follow up on Reid's request for a ride to make sure he got home safe. He prayed that the guy was at home and not in some hospital for observation. He prayed the guy wouldn't snap when he called so early.

Reid picked up on the second ring. He sounded tired but upbeat. Brice really didn't know how to help the guy after such an ordeal, so all he could do was offer to pick up a few things as he probably couldn't leave his apartment without getting more attention for a few days.

His requests were simple. Brice went to a shopping market and picked up some tea, fresh bagels, and few other standard groceries. The only tricky thing to find was a thick sturdy notebook. Then in the stationary section he met an older woman wearing a dress that looked like something out of the early fifties.

"I like these," she said and pulled out a thick blue hard-back journal from a display shelf he hadn't noticed. Brice read the title in gold cursive:

"_I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. That is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant."_

_Martin Luther King Jr._

The woman disappeared before he could ask her why. But something told him that this was the perfect choice.

…

"How is it that you look better than me?" Brice asked when Reid opened the door.

He was clean-shaven, wearing a light black cardigan sweater of red t-shirt and khaki pants. He looked like he was looking forward to having a peaceful day in.

"I don't exactly have anywhere to go today Brice," he said with a shrug and let him enter to put the groceries on the table. Then he stared directly at him. "Are you okay?" he said softly.

This was last think he was expecting to hear from a guy who nearly got blown up less than twenty-four hours ago.

"Reid I'm fine," Brice said trying to sound dismissive. "Work is work. I am sorry I didn't call-"

"It's okay," Reid said assuredly. "Everything worked out. I can't let myself fall into the dark place I was in yesterday if I want to keep my demons at bay," he said with a gulp.

Brice still couldn't figure out how or when the guy became addicted to narcotics. But he found himself trusting Reid more today than he did yesterday.

Suddenly, walls broke down and Brice felt his shoulders sagging. "Reid," he said as he tried to keep tears from welling up. "I don't know how else to help you."

Reid did something completely unexpected. He patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay Brice. The only thing I have is the desire to make things turn out better. That is all I need right now."

For some reason (aside from the obvious events of yesterday) Brice felt he wasn't being entirely honest. But the level of kindness was becoming too much for him. He slowly moved out of Reid's touch.

"Call me if you need anything," he said as he prepared to leave. "I promise I'll pick up if you call and be there if"

"I'll be fine Brice," he said and began to pull things out of grocery bags. "You have other people who need you more than me."

As Brice left he noticed him staring at the journal he bought intently.

…

"Okay I'm a twenty-one year old kid who has just been dumped into a bad neighborhood," Morgan said standing the middle of the street where Reid was hit. The road was beyond repair and no longer used as result of the new, wider street built nearby.

"Why do you keep referring the guy who could have been sharing a cubicle with you as a kid Morgan?" J.J. asked while holding a camera on left side of the street.

"It might have to do with the fear of him being smarter," Rossi replied as he looked at the case notes loaded onto his e-tablet, standing on the other side.

"Knock it off you two," Morgan said. He leveled his hand his forehead to block out the sun. "I can barely see the anything around me except some street lights at the North end of the block which is about twenty feet from here, if the recreation is right."

J.J. adjusted the lens of her camera. "That sounds fairly accurate, given trajectory and where he landed."

Morgan looked to the right. "I'm somehow threatened or coerced into leaving the cab. Since most people enter through the right passenger door he probably stumbled out and went to the right side."

"Which leads to the most ridiculously sounding question," Rossi said. "Why did the Reid try to cross the road?"

J.J. put dropped the camera to her side and looked around. "I'm scared. I'm disoriented," she says rapidly. "I was basically ejected from to one side of the street. A certain level of paranoia sets in as I think I might have been thrown that side of the street on purpose. I want to get to other side to put more distance between me and the man in case he doubles back."

Morgan and Rossi stared at her. "Great work J.J." Morgan said.

J.J. acted as if it was nothing. "Getting into the mind of sweet sensitive guy isn't that hard."

"J.J. you've never even met the him," Rossi said.

She turned her head thoughtfully. "Yet why I feel like I have?"

"It does happen when you get lost in a case," Morgan said as he continued to scan the buildings. There were windows on both sides with clear lines of vision to scene. "Someone had to have seen something," he said.

"In the middle of a down-pour Derek?" Rossi said with a slight edge. "It sounds like wishful thinking."

…

"The feds are on to me! The feds are on to me!" a man screamed hysterically when Brice entered the run-down apartment.

"I find that hard to believe." he said calmly. "Just take a few deep breaths and walk ten steps until the fear disappears."

The man nodded his head several times and began to walk the perimeter of the room.

Satisfied, Brice placed his briefcase on the coffee table and sat down one of the more on the worn leather couch.

His older sister sat in the chair opposite of him chewing on her nails nervously.

"I'm not sure how much more this I can handle Chris," she said. "He refuses to eat until I have arranged everything on the table perfectly and then it gets cold and he gets even angrier," her eyes grew moist. "I don't know what to do."

Brice tried not to let the look of anguish appear on his own face. He was doing more and more of what could be sent to social services, but he knew they had an even heavier caseload. He always loved the Jewish saying from the Talmud: _"And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world."_ Yet he questions what the word "saves" means in the world.

"There feds on the ground!" Silas screamed pointing out the window. "They're taking photos! They're looking for me. They can't have me!" He shouted tugged his sweater to over his head and ran into another room.

His sister stood up and shook her head. "After all these years he still hates cameras."

Brice stood up as well and approached the window. "You never told me why he's so afraid of cameras."

"It's an old story from back when he was ten and I was twelve. There was this husband and wife couple obsessed with taking pictures of every inch of the neighborhood, using those old cameras with huge flashes. Apparently they were famous years ago and went nuts when they got old. The crazy thing was they'd either break into the apartments or even pay people to let them roam around their rooms. It freaked me out for a while also."

It was at that moment that Brice stared out the window. What he saw sent chills down his back. It couldn't be. They'd been in town to catch a serial killer. He'd kept the radio on all day. There were no news reports about them still working in the area. But there were only three of them. Then he remembered seeing pieces of footage before the cameras cut in a the school.

He turned to the young woman. "Sonya, I think I can make the cameras go away."

…

"Morgan most of these records are dated," J.J. said as she looked at her e-tablet. "It appears the most of these apartments aren't up to code and have probably been empty for years now."

"There is the possibility that they are being occupied by squatters," Rossi said. "But they usually don't stay in the same place for long."

Morgan knew he was grasping straws. "But there must be a few people who are loyal to the neighborhood. People who'll never leave the place because they grew up here and it is all they know."

He noticed a few of the blinds covering the windows looked new. "Maybe we could knock on a few doors-"

"And freak out the residents even more," a voice with an air of authority said.

The three of them turned to see a mildly over-weight man in his late forties wearing crumpled suit approach them

"Who are you?" Morgan asked suspiciously. "And why do you think you know more about the situation than us?"

He didn't look the least bit intimidated. "My name is Christopher Brice," he said as he pulled out his credentials. "A people with special needs advocate. I work with several councilmen in the poorer neighborhoods to try to improve the lives of these members of society."

What he said next took Morgan and rest of his team completely by surprise.

"Agents without going into too much detail, I do believe I can help you find what you're looking for."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note:

Reviewer's Comments: Thanks for the support of my OC. As for the Elle/Morgan romance, I chose not to feature it for a few reasons that will become clear in a later chapter.

The Story: It starts out very slow in the beginning and I may trim it later a cut part of it after I finish the story. And a healthy dose of suspension of disbelief might help. Just be patient and look an author's note at the end because I have feeling you'll really want to.

Chapter 17:

Morgan trusted Christopher Brice because of what neither of them could admit in order to protect Spencer Reid. It didn't take long to figure out that Brice was probably working with Reid to help him adjust to life after the accident. Morgan wouldn't go into details about the case as it was an on-going investigation. All he said was that they were looking for witnesses to a hit-and-run incident that took place in that street ten years ago. This seemed to satisfy Brice and he led them to where they might be able to find someone.

"Madeline and Lucas Bedzin were famous photographers during the 1970s," Brice explained as they walked down the block. "They were known for taking pictures of urban decay and manipulating the images to make them look like nature using different developing techniques."

"Their names don't ring any bells," Ross said as they walked. "How do you know about them?"

"They're an urban legend-"Brice stopped for a moment, "menace is a more accurate term," he said distastefully and started again. "among the mental health care community. For you see people who worked with the mentally unstable during the late-eighties were hearing claims from patients about flashes of lights and that the feds were spying on them with cameras at all hours of the night. It took two years, two years for someone to believe their claims weren't imaginary. Eventually a profile was made and they found the two photographers holed up in a condemned building half-starved with a stock pile of camera supplies."

"What happened to them after that?" J.J. asked.

"They were placed in a mental institution and stayed for a few years before they were let out due to lost paper work," he said. "Then they were in and out of the system for years. The only way health officials could ever find them was when case workers began check their notes and realize the two of them were at it again."

They approached a five-story building where most of the first floor windows were broken. Brice seemed to read their thoughts when they reached the entrance. "The building is up to code. It is owned by an absentee landlord who still pays for enough maintenance to stay off the inspector's radar."

Morgan wasn't entirely convinced. "Do know the people who live here?"

Brice turned around and stared back at him. "The kind of people who can distinguish the difference between a fed and a health care worker. I suggest entering now and taking the back stairs before doors starting banging and phone calls to the police are made."

J.J. and Rossi looked at Morgan. Brice had been making reasonable arguments and nobody in the neighborhood saw of him as a threat they walked down the street. He waved for his team to follow him.

"So what makes you think they're here?" Morgan asked as opened the door to moldy-smelling lobby.

Brice quickly walked to the entrance to the back stairs. "Three things; one Sonya Marlow's detailed description of the Bedzins is the first I have heard of in little more than ten years." They began to climb the stairs. "Two: there has recently been a string of chemical fires in the area. They're always small and cause little damage as they take place on the top floors with proper ventilation almost as if on purpose. The neighborhood always reeked of chemical fumes afterwards, it didn't occur to me until now that it smells something photo treatment fluids. And this is the next building that has their layout specifications."

"And the third?" Rossi asked breathing hard as they reached the fourth floor.

"Well it is more of an educated guess honestly," he said. "If they did see something traumatic such as a car accident, it might of have put them into shock. These people can keep track of time and the ten year anniversary of the event may have sparked them into a frenzied state."

Hearing the way Brice spoke reminded him of the recruiting lectures he gave. He told the students that you didn't have to have a "sixth sense or clairvoyance" to be a profiler. They just have to be observant of their surroundings and to not judge people based on first impressions.

"Wow what a great pent-house apartment," Brice said lightly when they reached the fifth floor.

J.J. leaned over to Morgan. "How do you want to approach this?"

He rarely deferred to anyone who didn't have field training. But this was a special case. "Brice how do you think we could approach the couple without causing a psychotic break?"

"Agent Morgan my knowledge of the legal system suggests that instability of the possible witnesses to the crime would not be admissible in court. That the only thing to gain from an interview with them would another more tangible lead correct?" He said.

"So what are you getting at Mr. Brice?" Rossi asked impatiently.

"That we misrepresent ourselves using a series of partial truths. That we are here because with believe they are experts in their fields of urban photography that we need their help. In your case I'd suggest geographic profiling."

For the second time they all stared at him and it seemed to mildly annoy him. "I watch too much Law and Order and it is impossible to not pick up a few things from one of the people I work with who has in-depth knowledge of criminology."

Morgan adjusted his guns. "Brice you're going to knock on the door and I'll follow you. Rossi stay in front of J.J. in case things go south. You hear me?"

Everyone nodded. Brice knocked on the door three times.

A woman appeared with long gray hair wearing a faded plaid dress two sizes too big for her. "Oh no no no, you're here to take us away and pump us with drugs," she cried.

"Not at all ma'am" Brice said calmly. "My job is to help people find work. You're the Bedzin photographers after all. I have people who could learn from your vast knowledge of the art and stand out among those who have less skills as they have depended on those electric things where you press a button and think their pictures are superior because their 'digital'"

"That sounds like a load of horse hockey," a gruff voice said. A man wearing thick glasses with white hair that looked like it was cut in a bowl style appeared. His plaid dress shirt was equally faded and there patches sewn onto his gray pants.

He stared directly Morgan and Rossi. "You're feds aren't you?"

"I found these pathetic spies on the streets," Brice said with disgust. "These idiots thought they could find the 'perps' just by knocking on doors on and using their special powers from 'training from with the man.' Well I made a deal with devil: I introduce them to the real protectors of the neighborhood, to show that this place doesn't need any spies stirring up trouble."

Lucas Bedzin walked over to Brice so they were practically nose-to-nose. "You really expect me to believe that asinine story? You take me for a fool? You think-"

Suddenly J.J. appeared. "Mrs. Bedzin, please. I can see you are hurting badly," she said sincerely and approached the woman. "We're not here to turn you in. We know you haven't taken photos and created beautiful pictures in a long time. Just tell us why."

Madeline Bedzin instantly into tears. "I saw something horrible. A horrible thing. I can't get it out of my mind. I want to make it go away. But I have lived with it for so many years, I'm afraid to let it go." She collapsed into J.J.'s arms and let out terrible cries.

"Now that sounds like the truth," Lucas said. "Why go through all those crazy hoops? You really think we're that crazy?"

"I was afraid," Brice said sheepishly. "I create stories when I don't I think being myself is enough to help people."

"Fine, fine," Lucas said impatiently. "You're a coward I get it. Now tell me why the rest of these feds are really here."

Morgan stepped in. "Sir we're here because we think you could help us identify someone who may have been a witness to an attempted murder ten years ago in which a man was hit by a car."

"Well you're looking at two witnesses right now," he said pointing to his wife held in J.J. arms. "And we have what you might call a composite sketch."

…

The image was truly disturbing.

It was a five by ten poster of the scene. Lucas explained how they used the developed film as a template to create an outline of the scene and mixed paint and chemicals to create the scene that was a stunning surreal painting. It was his wife's idea of letting the demons out of her head.

The background was a light shade of covered purple covered with blue and black dots to represent the rain. There lying on the ground was a man whose shirt was a darker shade of purple with charcoal black pants. There was a thin dark line outlining the man's head. His eyes were small black spots with little curved lines underneath them. His mouth was a thin red frown line. There were tiny flecks of red on his face.

But the most disturbing part was the vertical shape beside him. It was a black column with half of a circle on the top. Three quarters of the way up there was black parallel line. At the end of it was a small brown rectangle attached to it with a brown curving line.

Rossi took a few steps forward. "Did this really take place?" he asked.

"We couldn't keep the photographs," Lucas replied. "They weren't of that good a quality to begin with as even a covered zoom lens can't capture the kind of crystal urban decay we treasure."

"Oh but they're so real," Madeline moaned, still cradled in J.J.'s arms. "So very very real."

Morgan approached the woman as softly as he could and he asked "Ma'am were you the one called the police?"

Madeline sniffled and nodded. "Yes but I did more than that. I had to! I couldn't let that poor man wake up to find evidence of the devil with him when he woke up!"

"What?" Rossi said.

Madeline let go of J.J. and took some unsteady steps towards the painting. "The monster took the man's bag off of him and then leaned down and put something in his pocket. Once I was sure he was gone I dashed into the street and pulled it out. Then I ran and called the police."

"I saw the whole thing too," Lucas said. "But my wife ran out the door before I could stop her. So I tried to photograph the whole thing. Just to document the whole thing through my camera lens to try to make sense of it all."

The man was remarkably lucid compared to Brice's description of him. Then he remembered how even the most mentally unstable people can maintain a firm grip on reality long enough to save someone they loved.

"Ma'am what did you find?"

The woman knelt down began to pull up a floor board. "I kept it here. I always keep it with the demon so it stays with the devil and not the innocent."

She gave it to Morgan and J.J. and Rossi leaned over to see it. It was a baseball card. A baseball card from the 1960's. He turned it over.

On the other side there was drawing in red. It was a drawing of the Eye of Eternity.

"Morgan," J.J. whispered. "Wasn't Gideon a fan of that team?"

Author's Note:

Yes, it is the moment many of you have been waiting for. My apologies for any inaccuracies in the story. I refuse to give any more details about the story for a number of reasons.

I really cannot write complete chapters while attending classes and that includes weekends as I have ton of reading and other obligations.

The next "holiday" where classes are canceled is Yom Kippur. I look forward to adding a new chapter then.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note:

11/22/2012 IMPORTANT OF AUTHOR'S NOTE:

To those of you who read this story as it was updated, this is the biggest change. This chapter was originally my idea of what Reid's love interest would be (not look, though I wasn't that far off in my mind). I had been following the writers on Twitter during the summer and was trying to write something that "landed in the ballpark." I have to hand it to the writers; I could never have come up with anything like that.

I don't like to redo stories while writing them but since a few people might a come across this story after watching the most recent episodes. I decided that I wanted to make it more in-canon. 11/23 Update: While keeping this lovely bubbly personality in another form and along with a few of my plot devices.

Chapter 18:

Reid didn't think he could stay in his apartment any longer. The last time he had written this much for hours on end when he was drafting the dissertation for his first doctoral degree. His wrist felt sore. When Brice called at around noon to "check up on him," Reid knew he had to leave before he called again around dinner time.

There was a small used-book store within walking distance of his building. He kept his head down and didn't look anyone in the eye. There was an unusually strong note of concern in his Brice's voice. He could have been over-compensating for what he thought was a fault by not paying attention to yesterday's events. Or there was the chance Brice stumbled onto something that gave him reason to worry. It didn't seem likely and just for once Reid wanted put sanity over safety.

The store was narrow and poorly-lit. There were thick layers of dust on some of the shelves. There was single bored looking older woman with black hair and a nose ring sitting at the check-out desk flipping through a magazine.

Reid walked over one of the book cases on the walls and pulled out what looked an old book on string theory.

"_It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge-"_

The words sent chills down his back. He turned around to see a girl in her late teens reading from a book in what sounded her attempt at a Rod Serling impression.

"_-This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone."_

She snapped the book shut. "I love that show!" she said enthusiastically and revealed the cover of a new graphic novelization of the TV series. She put the book into one of the lower cases in the middle of the store. "Don't you just love the idea of the fifth element beyond which is known to man?" She asked staring directly at him with a mischievous grin. Something about her eyes seemed familiar.

Reid turned away to examine another shelf to escape her gaze. "The only 'twilight zone' that exists is the locus of points of where the sun is tangent," he said trying to brush her off.

"But come on," she said and bounced to his right side. _"_Don't you think there is more to the world than that what can be proven through scientific deduction?_ The world where no man has gone before" _she said in a deeper voice_._

Reid continued to avoid her gaze. "The science in Star Trek is fairly theoretically accurate. The characterizations of the other worlds however, only reflect the cultural and political climate of when the episodes were written."

"So theoretically when the cosmetic plot elements of the show are dismissed, the idea of travel to other worlds that could exist _could be possible_," she intonated.

"Theoretically anything is possible," he snapped and buried his face in the first book he grabbed.

Her voice was sweet, but her words embittered him. It reminded him of what he knew didn't exist anymore. During the first few weeks he did try to think of some sort of astrophysical anomaly that could account for his predicament. But he had to stop in order to find peace in this "world."

"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere," she said in a sing-song voice.

"You're quoting Einstein now," Reid observed without looking up from his book.

She bounced to his side again. "And maybe where you need to be," she said matter-of-factly.

He slowly lowered his book to reveal her smiling face. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you familiar with the idea that all ideas come from another collective world, dimension, whichever sciency term you'd prefer," she said calmly as if she were giving a lecture. "That people come across these ideas in different ways and use them for different purposes. The way people use ideas help others develop new ideas that are derived from this same intangible collective sphere of ideas," she said.

He found it hard to comprehend everything she was saying. Not that what she said was abstract or confusing. He had read about this theory, but he had never heard someone so young explain it with such ease.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked softly.

"It is a truly sad thing for a person to believe only one reality exists," she said and suddenly skipped across the narrow store. Reid found himself following her.

A sudden thought occurred to him. "Shouldn't you be in school right now?"

"Class doesn't start until six," she said absent-mindedly she searched for a certain book case. "I think my classmates would be happy if I missed it as I keep pointing out the possible flaws in the Stern-Gerlach experiment while the professor is trying to explain what a spin quantum number is." She waved her hand dismissively. "But that's not important right now."

The mysteries continued to build up around this girl who was already arguing physics with the professor.

She knelt down and examined book titles on a lower shelf. "So, I'd like for you to look at these to expand your horizon beyond what is real." She presented him a stack of books.

He recognized some of the titles. "I've read a few of these," he said.

"But not with the belief that the ideas that created the worlds and characters described in these pages are derived from the same realm that defines our physical existence," she said rapidly and suddenly pulled a thick book from the stack.

"This is one of my favorites. I love the cover of this older edition," she said holding it so he could look at the picture. "An endless road on a desolate plain. The only thing that seems to present the possibility of an ending is that awesome lightning strike. And isn't lightning one of the most interesting meteorological phenomena?"

"Yes," he said as he slowly took the book out of her hands. The book was called American Gods, written by Neil Gaiman. It was about mythological gods who took on modern human forms. Garcia kept urging him to read the book after they watched the episode of Doctor Who written by the same author.

Reid placed the book on his pile and their eyes met. He couldn't figure out what seemed so familiar about. "Thank you," he said without fully knowing what he was thanking her for.

"You're welcome," she said cheerfully and began walk towards the exit.

Suddenly question he should have asked in the beginning popped into his head. "Who are you?" he asked.

She turned around for the briefest moment. "You'll find out eventually," she said teasingly and dashed out of the shop.

As he approached the checkout desk another book caught his eye. And part of his heart in some ways.

While balancing his stack of book, he pulled it out of the narrow display case and held it, remembering her voice. Reid had no idea what she looked like but something about her voice made him feel incredible. He placed the rest of his books on the checkout desk and the woman began to silently scan them. He opened the book and what he found written on the title page shocked him. It was a message:

"_I'm still here."_

He wouldn't let himself think about her since he woke up. Whenever he saw a pay phone he tried to avoid looking at it as he walked around it. He still knew the number by heart. But he hoped things had changed and changed for the better for her. He paid the bill quickly and dashed out of the store.

…

He stared around and saw a payphone ten feet away and ran to it. His hands shook as he pulled out the correct change and his fingers kept hitting the wrong the buttons. Then he dialed the right number and performed a routine that used to be so second-nature to him.

"Are you still taking the vitamins I told you to take?" She asked.

Her voice stunned him. It was like hearing part of the life he loved return to him. But is also broke his heart.

"How are you contacting me?" he asked frantically. "Where are you? What's going on?"

"You know I can't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he shouted hysterically. "You wrote you were here. How did you get to that shop to leave the book?"

"Spencer I mailed the book to the store after someone left a message for me in the mail saying that is how I could contact you. It was written in a card with the drawing of an ankh on it and nothing else."

"What do I do?" he asked tearfully. He couldn't say her name. He just couldn't when she still felt so far away. "Please tell me what to do."

"Spencer I have to go. Time is running out."

"On what? What is going on?"

"Stay on the vitamin regiment to prevent the migraines from starting up again. I love you Spencer."

The line went dead and Reid slumped again the booth sobbing. He missed her. He missed dreaming of one day meeting her. Now there was the possibility that peace could be found in another world.

Reid stood up straight and looked at the book on the top of the pile. It was _The Rule of Four_ by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason. It revolved around a piece of Renaissance literature called the _Hypnerotomachia_ that supposedly has hypnotic powers. He opened the book and flipped through the pages and noticed she had circled the first part of the Anonymous Elegy to the Reader:

_Gentle reader, hear Poliphilo tell of his dreams,_

_ Dreams sent by the highest heaven,_

_You will not waste your labour, nor will listening irk you,_

_ For this wonderful work abounds in so many things._

A book about a world of dreams that could change the lives of people. Maybe the book that could help him wasn't in his hands. Maybe it was the book that held his dreams. He looked at the rest of the book he was holding and noticed a theme.

Two different women had suddenly entered his life and seemed to more about this reality than he did. He didn't really know how either of them, especially the girl, fit into the world where he had been awake for the last ten years. But he wanted to learn more about both of them.

One Small Important Thing:

There is no extra reading necessary! Every relevant reference will be explained and described within the story. If you are short on time I wouldn't even recommend trying to read American Gods.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note:

Yes I am re-posting most of the chapters.

Posted 9/26/12 roughly two hours after midnight.

"_G'mar Hatimah Tovah" _It means, "May You Be Sealed for a Good Year (in the Book of Life)." I am having fun learning these Jewish holidays and I love that sentiment. (I felt I should learn something about the reason why classes are canceled.)

It is extremely long because I had a ton of bases I wanted to cover and I may cut up the chapter after I complete the story. I'm not sure if I have all the dates right and whether all the plot elements are going to work. I hope you buy into a few of my ideas.

Chapter 19:

At Rossi's insistence they moved their work space to his hotel suite. After meeting with Brice they decided to return to the hotel to review their findings. Rossi had acquired a whiteboard and began to tack things to it as J.J. and Morgan sat at a table.

"We now have three pieces of three seemingly different puzzles," Rossi said. He placed a copy of a photo of Reid at the FBI training academy. "Spencer Reid, a twenty-one year old genius who managed to talk his way into a position at the BAU" Rossi placed the baseball card on the board. "Jason Gideon, a highly-regarded profiler who helped create the BAU. He is the one who recommended Spencer Reid for the position and managed to get it approved by SSA Aaron Hotchner." He pulled out a marker and connected the pictures. He then placed a sketch of the Eye of Eternity on the board. "The Boston Reaper. Originally thought dead or incarcerated until the lead detective on the case died five years ago and left behind a contract where he agreed stop the investigation so the murders would stop. Not long after his death we were called in-"

"And he began his game of jerking us around," Morgan said angrily. "He left taunting phone messages at our hotel and was always a step ahead of us during his spree killing."

"What I don't understand is why he didn't try to offer either of you the deal he made with the detective," J.J. said.

"It was Hotch's case J.J." Morgan replied. "He was the only person on our team at that time and the Reaper had developed what he considered a 'relationship' with him. In his mind offering a deal to someone who hadn't be there in the beginning wasn't worthy."

Rossi nodded. "After taunting us for two weeks and killing a total of fifteen, he went off the grid again. Then three months later he returned to his signature pattern of killing and leaving trophies but this time in Westchester New York, now simply known as the Reaper. The police called us in after the second pair of killings. We had been working the case for three days when he left a cryptic message at the police station. Garcia traced the call to Tallahassee Florida where he had started the cycle again."

Morgan shook his head in disgust. "He is the only known active national serial killer right now. He has been toying with us for years. We really have no idea how many people he has killed as his dormancy periods vary and sometimes the police don't even know the Reaper is behind the attack," he said pointing to Reid's photo.

Rossi drew a line across the board and marked off years. "Reid was attacked during when the deal was still active. Gideon had left before the deal ended and had no connection to the Reaper case."

"So how sure are we that it is the Reaper?" J.J. asked thoughtfully. "The idea of a copy-cat almost seems more plausible."

Morgan shook his head. "The detail about the trophies was never released to the press. Taking one of the man's possessions and leaving behind another was his specific signature. The design is more indicative of the Un-Sub's identity than the act in omnivore killers like him."

"But why didn't he do something to catch our attention when his calling card wasn't discovered?" J.J. asked.

"Maybe because he didn't need to," Rossi said. He pointed at the Reid's picture. "This kid was Gideon's protégé. Gideon was his mentor and possibly a fatherly figure for the man given what we know about his upbringing. The act of trying to kill the guy alone probably sent a strong message."

J.J. was watching Morgan closely. He stared purposely away as he knew what was coming next. "Morgan, do you remember anything about the time when Reid was supposed to join the team?" she asked. "Do you remember any sort of tension or-"

"I don't J.J. I don't," he said shaking his head. "I only remember being frustrated by the fact that we were a man down for three months before Andy Swann was hired."

Rossi was staring at him also. "Morgan I worked in the same department as Gideon for nearly a decade. I know him. He cared about people to the point where he couldn't do his job because all he could focus on was the victims." He stepped back and pointed to Reid's picture. "He would have done everything in his power to find who was behind this attack."

"I don't remember anything!" he shouted and laid his forehead on the table. He couldn't stop thinking about that question. He kept wondering how he could have missed something like this. Hotch and Gideon had always maintained a good professional relationship, but they never socialized outside of work. He did feel as if he was walking in on conversations even when both of them were silent at times.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Rossi approaching him. "Morgan you've placed us in a difficult position," he said in an oddly soft voice. "By not letting us contact Garcia to access old emails that might give clues about how much Hotch knew about Reid's attack, we don't have much to go on."

He slowly sat up. "I don't want her involved. You know how emotional she can get. It took a while to calm her down after seeing what Kendal Dressler did to him. Getting her involved in a case that might go nowhere will become an obsession for her."

"That sounds familiar," Rossi commented.

He glared at him. "I didn't ask you for help," he said angrily and turned to J.J. "I didn't want help from either of you."

J.J. reached across the table and lightly touched his arm. "It's a little late for that Morgan," she said gently. "We're here for you because we thought you needed help and I think we have proven our usefulness. And you aren't the only one who developed a level of attachment to the young man."

"I still can't figure out why you're here. You never met him."

Rossi cut in. "We're getting off track. Now is not the time to question our motives for being here. Morgan do you think you could do a cognitive interview?"

Morgan shook his head. "Rossi we'd being going back more than ten years. You know memory retrieval degrades rapidly even after a traumatic event. How could I remember something as minute as a sudden replacement delay? Especial with the way Hotch compartmentalized."

"Then let your new impression of Spencer Reid motivate you to dig deeper," J.J. said. "A guy like him is hard to forget if you know what you're looking for."

Morgan sighed. This was the only viable option. If anything it was a way to stall them before they harped on him to get in contact with Garcia again.

…

Morgan tried to sit comfortably in the chair while not giving into sleep as he closed his eyes. It was decided that J.J. would to conduct the interview with a prepared script as she was the one who had the strongest connection to Morgan and Hotch. (And there was the unspoken fact that her gentler voice would be more effective than Rossi's forceful interrogation style.)

J.J. took a seat to his left. "Are you ready Morgan?" she asked.

"Can't see a time where I would be more ready," he replied gruffly.

"Then close your eyes and let's begin," she said.

Morgan did as instructed and J.J. began to guide him through the interview.

"Close your eyes and think back to May of 2001. It was unusually warm that year. Think back to sitting in the bull pen. Staring at the empty desk near you, impatient but curious at the same time."

Then it came:

_He was sitting at his desk, listlessly typing away at a report. He leaned back and noticed a young man who looked like his mother had dressed him for his first day of school. He was clutching his well-worn messenger bag like a security blanket. His eyes were wide with fear and kept staring wildly around._

_He couldn't stand watching the kid panicking any longer. He rolled his chair back. "Can I help you with something kid? Did you get off on the wrong floor?"_

_His eyes instantly lit up. "I'm looking for Senior Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner's office," he said quickly._

_It was slightly impressive how he rapidly named Hotch's position._

"_Well you're in the right area kid. His office is just up the stairs."_

"_Thank you," he said in the same hurried tone and dashed up the stairs._

"That messenger bag was important to him back then," he mumbled out loud.

"Good Morgan," J.J. said. "Keep going. Did you ask about him the next time you saw Hotch?"

Morgan nodded, keeping his eyes closed.

_He was the first to arrive when Hotch announced they had a new case. Hotch was arranging the case files on the table._

"_I didn't know we were still looking for interns for the summer," he said lightly._

_Hotch didn't look up. "I was meeting with him to discuss another matter," he said sternly._

_Then the other team members began to arrive. "We have been called by St. Louis…"_

_The details of the case were fuzzy. He knew there was no point in inquiring further about the strange kid looking for his office._

"Hotch wasn't eager to talk about meeting the guy," he said.

"Okay now think about when you were expecting to hear news about the new agent. Did his demeanor change around that time?"

Morgan tried to close his eyes more tightly.

_He was walking by his office to retrieve a something he left in the conference room when he noticed Hotch leaning back in his chair holding a file. His expression was alarmingly different. He looked something like sad._

_Morgan couldn't help himself. He knocked on his door. Hotch waved for him to come in._

"_Something wrong Hotch?" he asked trying to not sound nervous as he rarely asked about his boss's feelings._

_Hotch shook his a little too quickly. "Nothing really. It just appears that we're going to be a man down longer than expected."_

"_What's the reason for the delay?" he asked._

"_It's complicated," he said evasively. "And that's all I can say." _

_Hotch checked his watch." I'm expecting a call from Gideon," he said, returning to his normal tone._

_It reminded him of something else. "Gideon took his two-week sabbatical early this year," he observed._

_Hotch returned to looking at his paper work. "Gideon is welcome to take his well-earned sabbatical at any time he desires. Being one man down already, we've been assigned to research analysis until we have acquired a full roster."_

"It was the first time I'd ever seen Hotch slightly emotional," he said.

"That's good," J.J. said. "It show's meeting Reid had affected him. Focus on that. Try to recall more incidents like that. "Also try recall Gideon's when he got back."

It was becoming surprising easier to slip into the mindset.

_He and Andy Swann butted heads from the start. They disagreed on everything to the point where Hotch had to run interference before they jeopardized their first case. On the plane ride home they sat at opposite ends of the cabin._

_He was sitting near where Hotch and Gideon were sitting facing each other. Morgan could see the penetrating stare Hotch was giving him._

"_This doesn't feel right," he said in a low voice._

_He caught a glimpse of Gideon nodding. "There is nothing that can be done," he said._

"_Do you really think so?" Hotch said in an accusing tone. "Gideon you were gone eight days and came back with no answers. Are you really certain there wasn't anything there? Or did you walk away like you-"_

"_Aaron this isn't the place to discuss this," Gideon said and glanced over to where Morgan was sitting. "I don't think either of us wants it to end up in the BAU rumor mill."_

"_Point taken," Hotch conceded. "But this is a discussion we need to have sooner rather than later."_

"Hotch was angry at Gideon. I never thought it had anything to do with guy," Morgan said.

"You had no reason to," J.J. said. "Keeping going. Think about how the relationship changed.

_The tension seemed to lessen later on and he couldn't quite figure out why. Andy Swann transferred out and then one of the worst days in his tenure at the BAU occurred. Six agents dead. This was the first time Hotch looked close to the breaking point but still managed to support the team._

_Two days after the last funerals agent Gideon left a message announcing his intent to take a leave of absence. On the way to his car he saw Hotch leaning again his own lost in thought._

_He wasn't one to offer condolences to his boss but he couldn't stop himself from approaching his clearly conflicted boss._

"_It's been a rough couple weeks," Morgan commented._

_Hotch didn't seem to hear him. "Why does he walk away when things get hard? Why does he walk away when he thinks he can't do his job? Why didn't he look further-" Hotch suddenly caught himself and seemed to notice Morgan next to him._

"_It's been a long day Morgan," he said. "We should both go home and get some rest."_

_He opened his door and Morgan backed away_.

"Hotch lost faith in Gideon after his nervous break-down. Yet he still sought him out to for help."

"That's the kind of person Hotch was. He believed in giving people second chances," J.J. stopped suddenly. "Morgan you're spending too much time here. Skip ahead further and think of Gideon's reaction Hotch's death."

It wasn't hard to find this memory.

_Morgan heard the sound of objects flying in Gideon's office the day after his funeral. Morgan had developed a stronger voice by then. He wasn't afraid to approach his distraught new unit chief._

"_Gideon what happened to Hotch is not your fault!" he yelled to make his voice heard over the sound of crashing furniture._

_He was wild-eyed with rage. "I know. I know," he said breathlessly as threw his name plate across the room. Then he turned and stared straight at him. "But deep down, deep in my subconscious, in the darkness of my worst nightmares, I know something could have been done. Something was missing that could have changed-"_

_Morgan had to calm him down. "Gideon you're having nightmares that's all. This is one that'll be harder to get through but we will-"_

_Gideon suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders. "Morgan I don't think I can handle this job much longer if at all. Soon it will be your time to take the reigns as leader. But you have to swear something to me. Swear to never make the mistakes I did-"_

"_Gideon I don't-"_

"_Swear that no life is more important than another," he said fiercely. "Every man and woman is someone's son or daughter. Treat them as you your own. The sacrifice one person's life to protect someone closer to you is the easy way out. Don't ever let anyone-"_

"_Gideon, stop!" Morgan shouted out loud._

"Derek it's okay," Rossi said. "Open your eyes and take deep breaths."

Morgan opened his eyes and felt completely disoriented.

J.J. gripped his hand. "Take it easy Morgan. You're with us and you're safe."

Rossi took his other hand. "J.J. go get him some water, he is completely out of it."

J.J. nodded and got up.

"I'm fine," Morgan grumbled as he slowly got his bearings.

"I highly doubt that," Rossi said.

Then it hit him again. The revelation he had blocked out years ago because he thought what Gideon said was related to the psychotic break that caused his retirement and then going off the grid.

Morgan gripped Rossi's hand harder. "David, Gideon made a deal with the Reaper," he said breathlessly. "I don't know how without the baseball card, but I know he made a deal to stop him from looking into the case to protect the life of his son."

Rossi looked stunned. But they didn't have long to dwell on the new connection.

"Guys," J.J. said called out from across the room. She was looking at her phone. "Brice just left me several messages. His son and the girl he was taking home from school were murdered about an hour ago," she said shakily. "They found what looks like Reid's bag at the scene."


	20. Chapter 20

Posted around 1:00 AM 9/27/12

Author's Note:

Things are moving fast because I need them to on a number of levels. It starts slow but things are coming together. And do not be alarmed, I have never killed the character and I never will.

Sort of Unrelated: Premier spoilers. The new character seems vaguely familiar doesn't she? A professor who is something of an intellectual equal to him? I was trying to aim for the ballpark with Alex Blake though. I might add at that it is impossible to write while watching the show.

(And yes I rounded the numbers to make it easier for description purposes.)

World 20:

Peter Redwall and Sandra Zach were found stabbed and shot to death in his car in a ditch several feet off the nearest road. There was evidence that suggests they were forced off the road and then murdered. Rossi and Morgan went down to meet with detectives and examine the scene further.

J.J. found Christopher Brice sitting in the doorway of an ambulance looking completely defeated. The man's eyes were bloodshot and his face was red from exertion. There was an oxygen mask is his lap.

"Why?" he asked blearily when he saw her. "Why?"

"Un-Subs feed off emotions. They often kill to inflict the most pain on the family," she said.

Brice looked like he was fighting to stay in control. "If he killed my son to hurt me then why me?" he demanded taking deep breaths. "What did I do to get the attention of this Un-Sub?"

J.J. leaned forward and took Brice's hands. "You were being a good person. You helped a man the Un-Sub tried to destroy."

Brice pulled out of her grip. He shook his head. "It's not fair! It's not fair!" He shouted. "I am just one person. One meaningless person. My son hasn't considered me his father in years! But he has a mother, father, and sister. If he wanted to me to commit suicide, he didn't need take kill my son as an incentive." He slumped to the side of the ambulance and began to cry.

J.J. took a step back lost for words. She wondered how long Brice had been this close to the edge.

"Dad no!"

They turned around to see a girl in her early teens appear. Her long brown hair tied in a braid swished behind her as she ran to his side and hugged his shoulders.

Brice looked stunned as he tried to pull away from her. "Callie what are you doing here? How did you even get here?"

"I snuck out," she said simply and leaned closer to him. "I need you Dad. We all do."

"No no Callie," he said tearfully. "I've done nothing to deserve your love. All I could give him for his birthday was an old pocket watch."

"But Dad he thought it was cool even though he'd never admit it," she said with weak smile. "When he showed to Sandy she loved it. She said it made him look more mature and wanted him to wear to homecoming. I saw her try to hypnotize him with it in the cafeteria today."

Brice coughed as he tried to laugh. "I tried that once or twice and it didn't work."

Pocket watch? J.J. thought. It was sounded exactly like a something the Reaper would take. She slowly walked towards Brice and his daughter.

"Brice why don't you take your daughter home?" she said softly. "Take care of your family and we'll take care of ours."

Brice looked up at her. "Since when did you consider Spencer Reid part of yours?"

"Since we realized he meant more to us than we originally thought."

J.J. walked down to where Morgan and Rossi were examining the scene. "Guys did you find a pocket watch?"

They looked at her curiously. "No," Morgan said. "But his backpack was pulled apart and papers were all over the back seat. Why?"

"Brice gave his son a pocket watch for his birthday yesterday. His daughter said her brother kept it with him."

Rossi looked at her with disbelief. "How would the Reaper even know about the watch?"

"My best guess now is that he might have bugged Brice's car."

Morgan was looking at his notes. "I'll flag an officer down to take them home and have his car processed." He looked up to see a burly man approaching. "Detective, have you been able to contact Spencer Reid?"

He shook his head. "He isn't answering his phone or his cell. I've had men knock on his door and received no response. There isn't any sign of forced entry either."

"Then have the super open his door!" he said. "The man may be the Reaper's next target!"

The detective didn't flinch. "With all due respect Agent Morgan, your theory that the Reaper was behind Reid's attack doesn't carry much weight. We can't prove that the bag left at the scene even belongs to him until it is analyzed."

"Screw procedure!" he shouted. "He's been already abused by this Un-Sub once. We have to find out if he is safe."

Rossi stepped between them. "Morgan let's let the detective finish going over the scene and call our team," he said and turned to the detective. "You're request for assistance still stands correct?"

The man nodded. "The stabbing and shooting does look like the work of the Reaper. And I want him caught before he terrorizes my county further."

"And you have our numbers so you will call us if you find anything?"

"You'll be the first to know."

As they approached their car they noticed Brice walking towards them. He still looked shaky, but some of his determination had returned.

"You're going to have my car searched for bugs aren't you?" he said.

"It's the only way to find out how the Reaper managed to learn so much about you and Reid," Morgan said.

"Then I guess they'll need my keys," he said and pulled them out. "You know what they say when you go to the auto shop. Always remove your house keys." His hands shook as he pulled the key ring apart.

He presented them a handful of keys. "Take them and find Spencer," he said under his breath. His eyes began to tear up again. "I can't think of anything else to help him."

Morgan took them. "You've done more than enough Mr. Brice. Thank you."

"It's never enough Agent Morgan," he said croakily. "And it never will be."

…

The detectives were right in their conclusion that was no sign of forced-entry. Morgan slowly opened the door with their guns raised.

What they saw inside was a completely different story. After clearing the room of threats they pulled on gloves to examine the scene. Things were knocked down on the counter. Books were pulled off shelves. The most evidence of physical struggle was at the entrance of the bed room. There were small spatters of blood at the threshold and a tooth in the middle of one of them.

Morgan and Rossi bent down and looked at the pattern closely. "Why did he try to force the struggle to this room?"

"I think I know why," J.J. said. They turned to see her looking at wall that Morgan had seen covered maps and news clippings of the murders at Octavian the when he came here.

It looked ten times more confusing. He had covered the entire wall with clear binder dividers and filled them with notes and diagrams. Morgan recognized the some of the names. They were the names of past serial killers from cases. One that stood out was Tobias Hankel. He used an equal sign to connect it with 'Raphael' and then wrote under them: "God's judgment?" He placed another vertical line under it. "Torture too personal. Car doesn't fit profile."

"Torture," Morgan said out loud. "He never left any victims alive."

Rossi was looking at another entry on the wall. "How does he know about the Anthrax attacks?"

"Who is this Emily Prentiss?" J.J. said as she looked at another entry closer to the floor.

Morgan saw the flowers near her feet. "J.J. don't those look familiar? Watch where you step."

J.J. looked around her feet. "They're arranged in a path," she said and carefully followed it. Morgan and Rossi watched her as she knelt down behind the couch. "Something's jammed in here" she said.

"Careful J.J." Morgan warned.

She didn't respond. A moment later she appeared with a thick journal. She opened it before they could say anything. Time slowly passed. Her eyes widened with surprise and confusion.

"It looks like he wrote this," she said as her voice began to quiver. "Morgan the first entry is about us and you in particular." She began to read out loud:

"_All I ever truly wanted in life was a family. I love my Mom and I still love my Dad deep down, but I still craved a group of people who wouldn't judge me. A group of people who not only appreciated my intellect but also thought of me as a person worth caring for._

_That all changed on May 27th, 2012 when I woke up to learn that I had been in a coma for ten years after the car accident that occurred in May of 2001. That for the last ten years of my life I had not been working at the BAU._

_Life has been a struggle in this the place that seemed to have 'forgotten' my existence. I have fought hard to accept my fate. But when I saw Derek Morgan in this world and the way he slowly began look out for me like when we had worked together, I started to fall apart again._

_But I am not part of his life. I'm just a man who was the target of an unstable Un-Sub. He has a team to lead. He has a wife who managed to thrive at the BAU because I wasn't there. I don't have anything to contribute to his successful life._

_I need to write down the important events of when I was a special supervisory agent. I can't and won't share this with anyone, but I need record my existence as tangible evidence that I did indeed exist."_

J.J. stopped and flipped through the pages. "There has to be at least thirty pages here," she said.

Rossi walked over to look at the journal. "We'll have to read all of it. I don't know if any of this is real, but there has to be some useful information in here about the Reaper since he claims to have been an agent during that time_."_

"It's real," Morgan said numbly glued to the spot. "It's all real. The only word Hotch ever said when he appeared my dreams was 'read.' For the last coupled days I though he was referring to Spencer. But now I believe it has more than one meaning.

The world was spinning around him. He feared he was losing his sanity while deep down thinking he might be regaining a friend.

…

It wasn't déjà vu. It was real. It was happening all over again. He was handcuffed and tied to a chair in wooden structure with single light bulb in the middle of a place without visible landmarks.

George Foyet appeared from the shadows dressed in black. "So tell me Spencer, what do you miss the most about not be conscious for the last ten years?"

He tried not to give him the satisfaction of looking scared.

"You know what I think Spencer," he said as approached his side. "I think you miss the need to fight every day to stay clean," he pulled out a syringe.

"No," he couldn't help but moan.

He ignored him as he prepped the syringe. "I know you don't believe in the afterlife but I do. For you see as your precious boss beat me to what he thought was my fatal end, I learned to conquer death. I saw the realm of the dead and I saw how they suffered as they watched their loved ones struggle to survive without them."

He stopped and smiled for a moment. "I began to experiment with ways to destroy life without ending their suffering while alive. Kendal Dressler was something of a failure, a test run that would serve a higher purpose. You are my first success and it is time for the ultimate test of whether you are worth saving but for a price."

As Foyet plunged the needle into his arm Reid caught a glimpse of the sky from the single window. The clouds were thick and dark. And somehow it gave him hope.


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note:

First: 100 Reviews! 100 Reviews! Yay! You have no idea how long I have been waiting to see that number for one of my stories. I don't care that it took 40,000+ words to get there. It is still an awesome amount. And I will try to squeeze variations the names of some of my most regular contributors in the story in an unobtrusive way. (My apologies if I miss some of you.)

Chapter 21:

"So you guys left us behind to track down the Reaper," Mick said lightly when he and Elle arrived at the police station at around five a.m. in the morning. "Have they changed the laws about federal agents claiming the reward money?" He placed his file folders and his e-tablet on the table in the meeting room. "If I'd known that I would have stuck around to help and finally buy that sports car I've been saving for."

Morgan, Rossi, and J.J. were at the other end silently nursing cups of coffee. Morgan persuaded J.J. leave Reid's apartment around midnight to get some rest, since she was going to be the main speaker at the early morning press conference.

Elle was not enthused. "Really Morgan?" She said and slammed her purse on the table. "You stayed behind to go hunting for the white whale?"

Morgan looked at her. She looked angry, confused and not nearly as miserable as he felt on the inside. But he couldn't let it show. He put his cup down and reached out for her. "Elle it was just one of those feelings I get. I had to take a closer look at something and look what I found."

Elle pulled away. "And what if your gut wasn't right? What if that guy hadn't-"

"Morgan you don't have a gut," Garcia said accusingly as she walked in wearing a wild blue print dress. "You only have muscle. You're brilliant but you couldn't have possibly come up with all those aliases just from reading a notebook written by someone who had been in coma for years. Someone who's now missing and-"she suddenly sniffled

He pulled her into a hug before she could escape. Garcia insisted on coming after Morgan called her late at night with questions about information they found in Reid's journal. According to his "timeline" the Reaper had been caught and killed a few years ago. But his notes about Foyet's aliases matched each of the different areas he had been hunting in since the deal ended. Morgan couldn't blame her for feeling confused and overwhelmed. He just hated having another team member in the room he had to lie to.

"Everything's going to be okay baby-girl," he said soothingly. "We'll find him and we'll make sure no one ever hurts him again."

Garcia pulled out quickly. "I know. I know," she said, taking deep breaths. "And I'm here to do whatever you need to finally get this creep." She went to the middle of the table and began to open her computer bags.

Elle was staring at him with silent rage. "Be careful not to make promises you can't keep Derek," she said.

Morgan couldn't help but glance at Rossi who shook his head. There were no notes of wisdom for to do in a situation like this.

He motioned for everyone to sit down. "Okay, guys I know this is one complicated situation. I know you all have questions for what I, Rossi, and J.J. and I promise you will have answers. But first we need to get some key information out to the police and the press about _George Foyet._" He the table with his fist. "Not 'The Reaper,' he's just another mentally unstable Un-Sub who has developed a god complex."

Mick raised his hand slightly. "Do we have any actual evidence to tie him to the murders? There's an electronic paper trail but can be construed as circumstantial by a good lawyer. Can we prove that he committed any of these crimes?"

Morgan pulled out a photo of Reid taken from his Octavian University ID card. "That is why it is imperative that we find Spencer Reid. A messenger bag found at the scene of the last murders has been identified as belonging to him. When we entered his apartment we found evidence of struggle. It also appears Dr. Reid was re-examining Foyet's murders based of the notes found in his apartment, which may be why he is the target."

"Doctor Reid?" Elle said. "When did he become a doctor?"

"He has PhDs in Math, Chemistry, and Engineering," he said automatically before he could stop himself. In his journal he says he recently earned a fourth in philosophy. "The point is Foyet thinks he's interesting because he came very close to identifying him. Interesting is good in this case because there's a good chance we can find him alive."

"But in what condition?" Penelope asked anxiously.

"We just have to hope for the best baby-girl," Morgan said evasively. He had a feeling the answer involved finding him tied and hand-cuffed to a chair pumped with drugs. Foyet has his own methods, but what he gets off on is fear. And there probably isn't anything more terrifying to Reid than what Tobias Hankel did to him according to his writings.

"The main thing now is to get message out to the press," Morgan said. "Last night all we could do was stress vigilance, but today we can announce at the press conference we have a photo and the name of a person of interest in a series of murders whose most victims include Peter Redwall, Sandra Zach, and the abduction of Spencer Reid."

"So are we going to give law enforcement a profile before that?" Mick asked.

"We don't have enough information to build a solid new one," he replied. "We need to go over the evidence collected from the recent murders to see how it fits a pattern to help us catch the guy. What's most important is getting his image out to there and people will be on the look-out especially because of the possible reward money."

When he finished he noticed that Elle, Mick, and Garcia were giving him, Rossi and J.J. mystified stares.

"What aren't you guys telling us? Elle asked

"Nothing that you need to know right now." Rossi responded in an intense voice that silenced many a Un-Sub.

This didn't seem to deter Elle. She looked to Rossi and J.J. "And why aren't either of you asking questions about this sudden discovery of the identity of a Un-Sub who has been evading us for years?"

J.J. glanced at the clock. "I need to prep for the press conference." She began to gather her notes and stand up.

Morgan did his best to maintain an unreadable face as he looked at his two field agents. "Guys, I'm going to need you along with Rossi to be up on the stage with to show that we have our best agents on the case to assist in apprehension of Foyet.

Mick began to put his notes in a folder. "Even though we don't know nearly as much about our 'person of interest' as people might think.'"

"That is just something we all need to live with for now," Morgan said sternly.

…

J.J. found a small corner in the building to go over her speech in private and get her bearings. But all she could think of, or maybe envision was Reid or "Spence" is what he claims she liked to call him, showing her son magic tricks at her wedding.

"J.J., are you okay?"

She turned around to see Rossi watching her. She looked at him pleadingly. "Rossi, he knows the first song Will and I danced to our wedding."

"J.J. you've got to push out of your mind what you read about yourself in that guy's journal," he said softly.

Suddenly she felt tears in her eyes. "He claims to be the godfather of my son. I can't imagine Will's partner not being there to-"

"Then don't," he said. He gently patted her arm. "Just read your statement for the press conference and we'll go from there. To I don't know where, but you've got to trust that we'll figure something out okay?"

J.J. slowly nodded. "What we need is Spencer. And I need to do my job to get him back."

Rossi smiled faintly. "Now that's the spirit."

As they walked to the conference room together J.J. said: "You know reading how I could hold my own in a fight sounded very appealing."

"I did like the line where I said I swore I'd never pick a fight with you," Rossi said.

…

J.J. did an incredible job. Morgan didn't think he could have held it together as well as she did. She sounded passionate, but not overly-emotional as if everything she knew about her life might be wrong or part of a very detailed delusion of one man.

Rossi hung back as the rest of the agents left the stage once the press conference wrapped up.

"So do you still want me to manage the case from the field office while you return to exploring Pandora 's Box with J.J.?" Rossi asked.

Morgan nodded. "The situation there is still too complicated. I'm not ready to let them in and find what looks like madman's wall of conspiracy theories that might actually prove to be useful."

"You can't avoid Elle forever Morgan."

The vision of being Elle's hands covered in blood on their first vacation together blocked his vision. He shook his head to clear it.

He looked to Rossi desperately. "Rossi is he worth it?" he asked feeling weak. "Believing that some crazy super-natural force could change everything about our lives? Even what we love the most?"

Rossi looked at him with equal sadness. "I don't know Morgan. I just don't."


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: (A.K.A: A confession.)

I totally understand why a few readers might be confused and a little angry right now. I promised updates over Thanksgiving and I know this isn't what you were expecting. Just let me plead my case: I am not your average fan fiction writer.

-When I am feeling down and miserable I'd pull this story up on my computer and reread it. I feel like a child staring through the window at her puppy.

-I can't shut up about my love of writing fan fiction at school and editing (badly I see) this story was the highlight of my Thanksgiving break.

-Writing this story kept me sane during one of the most uncertain periods of my life. I have found more peace and joy in my academic program than I could ever imagine.

I hate Chapter 23 and 24 because I know I can write better and I promise I will prove this to you. Today I have to do a web chat, email a professor for help on research project, complete an assignment that is impossibly frustrating, and try figure out whether I can afford on-campus housing before I meet with my advisor on Monday. I know many of you may not care but this is my apology.

THIS STORY WILL BE COMPLETED WELL BEFORE CHRISTMAS My classes end on the 13th so I have plenty of breathing room. All I can give you now is a story with less errors.

Chapter 22:

"What I don't understand is why he changed his style," J.J. said as she read the journal from the couch in Reid's apartment. "His writing looks much more rushed for the last few pages. After he finished his account, the rest of the pages are filled with random notes as if he were free-writing." She looked to up at Morgan "What made him decide to try to find out what caused his reality to change?" she asked.

Morgan was standing in front of the wall with his set of notes. "I have no idea," he replied. It was getting harder to find useful information after he successfully determined that Foyet was his behind his attack, based off looking at the past Un-Subs who had delusions of grandeur that might not be a delusion in this world. And with no clues on a location, they decided to focus on looking at possible methods to convey this "delusion" as a reality.

He looked at the two drawings on the wall. The Eye of Providence at the top and what looks like a totems-style of sketch of a bird further towards the left. Reid was kind enough to label it "thunder bird." It layout looked like it was meant to form some sort of triangle. Morgan wondered what could be the symbol for the other base.

He kept looking through books on the coffee table for answers. There were notes in them but like everything else, there only seemed to be partial theories. "I can't figure out what he found in these books. I don't even recognize some of the titles."

"You know Garcia might be helpful with that part," J.J. said. "She does like this 'Doctor Who' show and was on her way to the convention the day of the bank heist. Except she went with Eli from accounting as part of her plot to make Kevin jealous who I believe is gay. So I guess that fits with her going with 'someone who she couldn't possibly ever be sexually attracted to.'" J.J. couldn't help but laugh and then shake her head. "The poor guy never had a girlfriend."

Morgan laughed also. "Hey he did ask you out," he teased.

"Hey he isn't my type," she responded. "Though I can see why he had a crush on me."

"And that's such a big surprise to you?" he said with mild disbelief.

"You never flirted with me," she said pointed out.

"You're not my type," he said countered.

Suddenly they were both laughing together. It seemed so crazy to be laughing at a time like this but it felt good to laugh so hard for the first time in what felt like months.

Then it hit him. "A girl," Morgan said suddenly. "It must have been a girl."

J.J. looked at him uncertainly. "I'm not sure I'm following."

"J.J. you just said he never had a girlfriend right?" he said.

"Yes," she said slowly.

He began to pace around. "Then think about it. This guy loves us. Loves us as if we were his own family. According to that first entry, he was willing to live without us ever knowing who we were to him because he didn't want to hurt us."

"So you think at some point he met a girl?" she said skeptically.

"What else would make a guy want to change his life like that?" He looked around room. Hoping some random sign of a woman's presence would appear.

J.J. didn't look convinced. "Morgan, think about what you're saying. You're suggesting that a girl from the same reality he is from convinced him to look into the possibility of finding a way back to their shared reality."

Suddenly his theory didn't seem so brilliant. "I don't know J.J." he said agitatedly. He pointed to the wall. "Why else would he decide to suddenly create this whole thing?"

"To find the find the man behind his attack?" she suggested.

"J.J, I was in here the other day." He said impatiently. "This wall was covered with information on the Octavian case. Why would he suddenly look into his attempted murder three months after he woke up?" He was starting to feel angry.

And clearly J.J. sensed it. "Okay Morgan," she calmly. "Let's recreate yesterday. Brice told us that Reid appeared to be planning on spending the day in, which is probably why he asked him to buy some sort of notebook."

Morgan looked at where J.J. was sitting on the couch and tried to envision Reid writing in his journal there. "Seeing the team was a shock for me," he said. "I feel the desperate urge to write out every detail of the life I thought I had. But eventually I get tired."

"His handwriting becomes sluggish, as in the way he writes his letters becomes less well-formed. In the next entry his letters are better formed, but it seems rushed as thought as small words are missing at times," J.J. said.

"So I decide to take a break," he said envisioning Reid shaking his hands to loosen the muscles. "Brice called the landline around noon. If I had been sitting here writing non-stop, I'd want to leave to get some air."

"Which is when he met the girl," J.J. said. "But where?" she asked.

Morgan looked at the books on the table. "Reid managed to steer Foyet away from this area for a reason. These books don't look anything that would fit in the other shelves."

"So he went to book store and she suggested those titles," J.J. concluded. "There's got to be a bookstore somewhere in the area." She went to pull out her e-tablet.

Morgan flipped through the books looking for something that might show where they were from. He saw a thick book in a corner he hadn't noticed. Morgan flipped through the pages and showed J.J. note written inside.

"Wow, Morgan," J.J. said, "you were right."

Along with it there was a receipt for Sara Bee's Bookshop.

…

"You know I never thought to pack an umbrella," J.J. said observing dark clouds in the sky as they walked into the tiny shop.

"An umbrella won't help you in this storm," a voice called out.

They wove their way through the cramped shop and found a woman sitting on top of the check-out desk dressed in a black tank top and jeans. Her long hair was pitch-black and her skin was white as paper. She had a tattoo of what looked like part of the Eye of Horus under her right eye. She looked up from her book with a goldfish on it and smiled. "Hi there," she said cheerfully. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You were expecting us?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Oh right sorry," she said and hopped off the desk. "I'm supposed to let you ask me questions first. Knowing everything can be a pain when you're someone like me." She turned to face them. "You came wanting to ask me some questions didn't you?"

Morgan looked to J.J. curiously. This couldn't be "the girl" Spencer Reid fell for.

Morgan pulled a picture of Reid. "Ma'am do you remember seeing this man here yesterday?"

"Of course I do," she said breezily. "Though I don't he would be able identify me. I like to change my appearance occasionally and I couldn't let him see me looking like this," she said waving her hand down her front. "He might ask too many questions I couldn't answer."

The woman was talking in riddles. He was getting very tired of this.

J.J. spoke before he could snap at the woman. "Do you remember seeing him talking with another woman in this shop?"

"Of course I do," she replied again. She turned slightly and began walk around them. "And I can't tell you who she is because she has served her purpose and has slipped back into her own reality," she said rapidly. "It's not that I don't know, its just there are certain rules that need to be followed if there is any chance for any of us to escape." It was almost as is she was thinking out loud.

Morgan looked at J.J. again and she gave him the same uneasy look. This woman was clearly delusional.

She suddenly turned and clapped her hands. "Oh is this the part where I get to tell you stuff? Or wait you still haven't asked me one very important question that I don't usually answer directly because it generally implied when people do see me."

The woman was really pushing it. "Okay Ma'am I'll play along," he said sarcastically. "Who are you?"

She laughed. "I'm so glad cell phones don't work well around me. I'm Death," she said simply.

The woman was right. Morgan couldn't get any signal. He was about to leave when J.J. grabbed at his arm.

"Death?" she asked as if it wasn't strange at all. "How did you get that name?"

She laughed again. "That name has a very long complicated origin relating to the medieval period. But I do have the other names," she begin to count them off on her fingers. "Variations of 'mortis' because you got to love the Roman's for developing such a strong a language, extinction, 'God's Reckoning' which I'm really not crazy about because that means I'm attached to a specific sect of faith, 'Hades' another misuse because that is an entirely different-"

"Ma'am, stop messing around with us!" Morgan yelled and blocked her path. "There is a man in in serious danger and-"

She didn't seem the least bit perturbed. "There is one name that is mine that George Foyet took from me," she said calmly. "The Grim Reaper."

He wasn't expecting this. She just bought herself some more of his time.

She seemed to have recognized this also. "Terrific," she said happily. "Now that I have your attention, and a tiny bit of belief, maybe I can finally tell you how to get us out of here."

"Us?" J.J. said.

She took a few steps away went to a shelf. "I know neither if you recognized this representation, because you haven't read his books."

She pulled a trade-size book with surreal photos on it with the title _Preludes and Nocturnes_. She flipped through to the back of the book and there was a sketch of her with an equally pale man with long bluish black hair. She pointed at the figures. "That is me, please note the beautiful silver ankh necklace I am wearing, and that is my brooding, self-loathing brother known as Dream or Morpheus, the Ruler of All Dreams."

Morgan was getting close to his wit's end. "You have got to be kidding me," he said. "You really expect me to believe-"

"Your father was a police of officer who was gunned down in front of you," she said in a measured tone. "When he saw me, he didn't beg to stay behind because he had accepted his fate. Instead he begged for a way to make you stop seeing him lying there the ground. I couldn't because that isn't my purpose. He swore he'd watch out for you, Desiree, Sara, and your mother Fran for all eternity as I took him to his next chapter, which I can't tell you about."

He felt like he was experiencing vertigo. Everything seemed to shift around him as tears filled his eyes. He didn't know what was happening.

The woman turned her attention to J.J. "Immediately after your sister ended her life she regretted it and burst into tears. She felt terrible for what she did and wondered if you and the rest of your family would ever forgive her. I told her that you would always love her."

Her words had same impact on J.J. She stepped away and covered her eyes.

"I really hate doing that," that woman said. She let out a sigh.

Morgan looked at her more closely. He was expecting see stars in her eyes or the tattoo to move on its own. He was starting to believe in stranger things every hour.

"Who are you?"

She leaned her against the desk. "Through the years humans develop different ways to explain what they can't understand: Orally, visually, and through the written word. It is not always for science-based; sometimes it is a new perspective of something that has very sad connotations. And that how I came into existence in this form," she said and held up the book.

He was getting a huge headache. "So you were created by a writer?"

She rolled her eyes. "She let out another sigh. "Listen the more I tell about the creation of this anthropomorphism the more I'm going to give you a headache. Do you believe I am Death?"

He had no idea what he believed anymore. "What does any of this have to do with saving Spencer Reid?"

She smiled. "I like that answer even better."


End file.
